This is a collection of poetry from across the material plane. The authors are mostly unknown, but can assumed to be of the bohemian disposition.
the hills have eyes heavy lidded with eternal watch each tree is a feeling tendril be careful where you put your mill
bleary months too cold to care choking down the frigid air fighting against powdered snow i wish so badly i could grow in with the weeds of winter finding frozen broken beaten center i spit out a tooth and continue to speak my truth
Oh, dear Gwyneivere, how beautiful your auburn hair poisonous 'neath thin verneer how willing doth the prey creep into your den, half-asleep What then, of sin? in this warmth of pillory-dens do passionate nights cause everlasting frights? marr me, fair Gwyneivere, mother to Gawain know you yet the fate he met when Camelot marched to die?
Sunset early in unholy mind Walking backward slowly Hoping deathly to find Waxdeep fingers under cover of night, Ridges defined in ways I can't divine Candlelit vigil necessarily alien I pray that I'll be able to walk right again Slow emotion Quick to anger Everyone in constant danger.
The flagellant scholars journeyed to the countryside they were beset by men acting as though they left no legacy behind. Yokels who stood and talked, and quietly retreated They kept no ledgers, wrote nothing of themselves. The length of their day was only governed by the light of the sun In the woods the scholars delve, hoping to find someone. In hermitage, Todd was, and he waited for the scarred men Behind trees, Todd sublimated his mind into esotery. He deigned to speak, Todd, to the scarred scholars 'Why do you seek to tie your legacy to paper? Better, I think, to live as a wise man, than to commit even trivial thoughts to that medium Why do you seek to tie your schedule to itinerary? Better, I think, to live as life comes, than to pre-empt any activity.' The scholars they pondered, as they were wont to do They pondered and thought, til Todd's words were thought through in the forest they spoke, retorting in faith 'A paper legacy is best for the posterior It is better to record in the betterment of the future It is good for all that we think on the page.' Then they discussed their love of their minutes. Each hour catagorized into work or play. No minute squandered, max productivity. 'Itinerary creates responsibility It is known to all when I am where. It is good for all that we are on time.'
the frigid cold of early spring slows the beat of the bird's wing at season's end, a dirge to sing hark, he flies, the warmth to bring the blooming buds, verdant gods in new-sewn duds the sun shines bright heralding health with heavenly light the bird alights on new-green branches preening, the spring-bringer dances scarlet feathers melting frozen snows leaving rosebuds still to grow