Old English Poem

  This Be The Verse This be the verse, the first and last, That tells the truth from future to past. A story of hearts both strong and weak, In every word, the soul will speak. It starts with joy, it ends with pain, The endless cycle, the quiet refrain. We’re born to laugh, to weep, to fight, To seek the wrong and chase the right. I’ve seen the world through open eyes, I’ve touched the earth, I’ve reached the skies. And though the years may take their toll, I remain steadfast, a questioning soul. The hands that built, the hands that broke, The hearts that healed, the words they spoke. In every face, in every glance, Lies a story, a chance, a dance. I’ve walked the roads that others paved, I’ve stood upon the graves they’ve made. In every shadow, there’s a light, In every fear, a chance to fight. This be the verse, the song we sing, The refrain that echoes with every spring. Through seasons change, through winds that blow, We find ourselves where we must go. ...

  Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird I A blackbird perched upon the wire, Its wings spread wide, a flame of fire. It looks beyond the world in flight, Into the darkened heart of night. II The blackbird sings, a mournful sound, Its notes reverberate, echoing around. In the silence of the early dawn, It calls to the world, to the breaking morn. III The shadows stretch across the ground, The blackbird watches without a sound. In the quiet, it stands still, A sentinel against the world’s will. IV A flash of black against the sky, A solitary figure soaring high. It rides the wind, the unseen force, Guided by instinct, free by course. V The blackbird rests upon the earth, Its golden eyes searching for worth. In the underbrush, it finds its peace, A quiet world where troubles cease. VI It dances through the morning rain, Its feathers slick, yet not in vain. The droplets fall, the world is still, The blackbird's song, a balm, a thrill. VII In the evenin...

  Song of Myself I am the wind that whispers through the trees, A wanderer, free as the ocean's breeze. In the deepest night, and in the brightest morn, I stand alone, but am never forlorn. I am the river that carves through the land, The mountains that rise at the touch of my hand. I am the star that twinkles above, The embodiment of all things I love. I am the poem, I am the song, The rhythm of life where I belong. I sing to the world, I sing to the sky, For all that is living, I lift high. In the flesh, I am whole, I am soul, Woven together, making me whole. I do not seek answers, for I am the key, To unlock the mysteries that are me. I am the silence that echoes loud, The dreamer who dares to stand proud. In the quiet, I am a song unsung, In the noise, I am the bell that’s rung. I am the dust, I am the bloom, The darkness, the light, the endless room. I am the whisper and the loud cry, The fleeting moments, as they pass by. I am the laugh, I am the tear...

  Prologue In the depths of night, where shadows creep, A howl rises from the soul’s deep sleep. Not of sorrow, nor of pain, But of a spirit that will not wane. It calls to the stars, it calls to the land, A cry for freedom, a desperate stand. The howl is not just a sound, a cry, But the voice of the wild, reaching the sky. Chapter 1: The Call of the Wild A young man named Leo, restless and wild, Felt a stirring within, untamed and defiled. In the city of stone, the world of steel, He longed for something more, something real. He walked through crowds with head held low, Tired of the noise, the endless flow. The world around him seemed so small, And he yearned for a voice, a clarion call. In the quiet of night, when all was still, He heard a sound that gave him a chill. A howl, long and deep, full of desire, A burning wish, a soul on fire. Chapter 2: The Journey Begins Leo left the city, left the cold streets, Following the sound on restless feet. Through f...

One Art In a small room, with dim-lit light, A woman sat, her face worn tight. With pen in hand, she wrote her plea, A verse of loss, a silent sea. She had learned the art of letting go, Yet the weight of loss she still didn’t know. Her heart was heavy, her soul torn apart, But still, she wrote, for it was “one art.” Chapter 1: The First Loss Her name was Clara, a poet of grace, Whose words would bloom in the darkest space. But one day, she lost the one she adored, And with it, a part of her was destroyed. The first loss came swift, like a thief in the night, Stealing her joy, extinguishing light. Her lover, her partner, her closest friend, Gone without warning, no chance to mend. She sat in silence, her world turned gray, The poetry she once loved now seemed far away. But she remembered the words she once knew, To lose is an art, an art to pursue. Chapter 2: The Practice of Letting Go Clara wrote each day, trying to find, The way to untangle the grief in her m...

  Prologue Deep in the forest, where the shadows lie, A tiger prowls beneath the sky. Golden stripes, a silent roar, A beast of myth, a tale of lore. The villagers whisper, hearts in fright, About the tiger that owns the night. But within its eyes, a secret burns, A story of life, as the world turns. Chapter 1: The Hunter's Call The hunter came with bow and blade, Into the jungle’s endless shade. His aim was sharp, his heart was fierce, Yet the tiger’s gaze his soul could pierce. Through tangled vines and twilight’s glare, They danced in silence, predator’s stare. The hunter thought, “I’ll claim this beast, And bring my village a mighty feast.” But the tiger circled, patient, wise, A gleam of fire in its golden eyes. As if to say, “You seek to take, But from this jungle, none escape.” Chapter 2: The Villager's Fear In the village, tales grew wild, Of the tiger’s wrath, untamed and riled. “Keep to the paths,” the elders warned, “For the tiger watches, s...