Weary Wings

By Amedeus Somirs

Crossing seas of opportunities,

Stride by stride making our way through.

Looking down into the abyss…

Uncertain where to go.

Feeling tempted to go further,

While lost memories from distant past,

Want to keep you,

Hold you back.

Your heart beats strong and bold,

Reminding you to keep a hold.

Don’t you worry, don’t you fear.

For anywhere you may be,

No matter how far or near,

You’ll always find your way back home.

You’ve felt it

Just how free,

Freedom really feels.

Don’t feel weary of the wind

Beneath your wings.

Trust the way it flows,

You’ll discover so much more.

Keep you head held high,

Reaching for the sky.

Nothing can stop you now,

So don’t come crashing,




Photo by Alexandria Somirs



Liv; Olivia

By Katelynne Davis

I am afraid of her kiss; I will not know how to refuse it.

Photo by Katelynne Davis.


By Multi-Verse Poet

Trust whispers to you like a lock on a page,

The stool you sit on when your legs are weary,

An unbreakable hedge for invaders of all trades,

That silent friend that lights you up when you are teary.


Trust opens up back doors to your own personal book,

Your story unveiled to a trusty, old friend,

Unlocks passages for your old, weary soul to mend.

Photo by Multi-Verse Poet


By Isaac Sullivan

Well timed, the writing on the wall
ill timed, the introduction of
put it on paper to make it sell
on the screen it sells

Well timed, the way we thought
ill timed, the introduction of
put in in a suit to make it sound
paint it pretty, funny, it’ll sell

Well timed, the response
well timed, any stance
say I am not scared of the wolf
every brave battle is

Photo by Alexandria Somirs

A Letter for Him, the Unseeing Nearby

By Katelynne Davis

I know I’ll never take up space
even in your peripheral vision
Perhaps block and reflect the light,
but because of the laws of physics, and nothing more
and even those are bent by the mind

Instead I will invisibly watch,
non-existent, by your estimation,
and yet still be here
The paradox may be enough amusement to sustain me
and anyway when we both turn
I’ll be utterly unprepared for that darkness;
all the better for it

Still I’ll read your letters to her
and you’d be shocked at the intrusion, though they are silently public
on that anonymous yawp above the rooftops, drowned out by the
screams of so many others
vying to be heard
for fear of what rises from below
Whether flood or hellfire, or nothing at all; who dares look back to see

Dancing on your edges, I pause to wonder who has been on mine
It’s too late to look back, but maybe
a glimpse in my eye’s corners
was enough for them to be remembered

Every broke-off piece of a street-sung song
Every lit window I’ve ever looked through
Every wrong coffee order pushed across the counter
Every study into a staring eye
I’ll ask them

Photo by Katelynne Davis

The Scarecrow

By Callum Dawson 

There once was an idiot who thought he was a scarecrow.

This was due to his upbringing. He had been born in a cabbage patch, and raised in a field. His clothes were ragged and his head was empty as a carven pumpkin. I am a scarecrow, the idiot would think to himself every morning and every evening, confident of his place in the world.

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