Forever wild and free

🌿
F o r e v e r 
w i l d
& f r e e

🌿

Near the tiny row of ghost-flowers

a cricket perches its wistful-song as an offering

a ruby moth hovers by my pale neck

adorning me with forest-incense

I sit with sword & amulet by my heart, waiting

as a velvet-blood-sunset lights the tangled land

there are bonfires in the distance
but I remain low to the ground
reading the moss, bark and stone
for hidden language
searching from half-deep sleep
and visions to render my hovering mind
I dream alone~ questing within.
The night is shaking down
the dark womb of trees~their wavering leaves
 to answer me

a single breath emits
a dripping moon
transiting over my soul's bones
and leaving me open
for the young wolves to take
they gently eat my wounds
and make me new again.

the morning crashes in
  a kingdom of starlings
and I awaken with the scent of the amber sun
and the taste of dragons falling off my tongue
the flesh of me glistens like light underwater
and I know I am different somehow
for falling
feels like flying
and I cannot stop my dreaming eyes
from wandering off the seams
of death and life

I am feasting on the beauty
of jeweled earth and wet bark
and the green-lace of summer leaves
shimmering high above
I climb, they are calling me
I keep climbing towards the voices
until I feel the forest and flesh
slip away from me
and I know only
feathers and air
a gust of breath
  and I become One
with the wind's sacred embrace
I am forever wild
 and
I am
free.
~victoria pettella~

🌿



This poem and post is dedicated to
 the Beautiful Creatrix
Magaly Guerrero
*

I want to especially thank her
for her Stitched Poetry Giveaway
( pictured above)
~I am made of wild~

It is sacred, beautiful and magical to me!
Thank you Magaly!


You can explore Magaly's beautiful darkly poetic world
here..
http://magalyguerrero.com/

In her swan garden

💘

In her swan garden
there was an old wooden arrow
laying near the larkspur, bees upon spires
In her swan garden
there was a rose red book
weathered pages
poems from long ago

In her swan garden
there was a chatting rook
climbing up the arbor with blue morning glory
tilting about, he flapped blackly wings
telling all below the tales of his summer

In her swan garden
there was a dying mother toad
crushed by the stormy shards of silver rain
I found her near the old stone circle
where the green ivy prayed
I held her by my heart
with pink petals and salt
And waited until her eyes
could hold no more
but the sun

In her swan garden
there were many creatures and forgotten souls
gnarled vines and cracked branches
shed from ancient trees above
and a labyrinth of wilting sunflowers now turning to seed

The seasons will tell us when to bury our winged
when to unearth our song
and when to untangle the dreaming things
she wrote in her book each night
before the stars came collapsing in
I watched in the quiet until she was done
and it was there she would vanish
into a spiral of a thousand winds
in her swan garden
in her swan garden
in her swan garden
I held every page
~victoria pettella~

💘