Trespasser Poems - Poems about Trespasser

before you allow anyone else to trespass and trample violate your mind, body, and soul take time out for isolation and self care no matter time needed; weeks, months, years find, get to know, and accept your authentic self learn to embody your self worth so you can accept nothing less than what you deserve therefore stopping trespasser before they trample on...

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deep in the woods where shadows creep, where secrets lurk and willows weep, a girl in rags with locks of gold walked paths where none but ghosts grew old. a house she found--quaint, warm, and neat, with honeyed air and scents so sweet, but locked doors made her fingers twitch-- what’s theft to those who dare be rich? inside she stepped, no fear,...

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Pain you don't have squatters rights. This is not where you belong. So hurry up and pack your things. Disappear yourself, be gone. Why you came here to begin with, is something I don't know. You came here uninvited. Now I'm demanding that you go. The fact that you're not wanted here. Should be obvious...

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Trespasser I watch the sliver of light beneath my door wait for familiar shadows to cross my threshold. Beneath insecure blankets a silent scream invasion complete... Strength Thru Adversity Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Gregory R Barden March 24, 2019...

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Written by Gail DeBole July 15, 2017 You quietly hold your head high as you stand on the grassy bank - never gazing back at me. Your head and neck play games with the alphabet as they gracefully curve into an “S”. Human boundaries have no meaning to you as you gracefully catch fish next to a well-worn No Fishing sign. I think of all of the...

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They sit at the red Formica table, quietly buttering their morning toast, while watching her through the window glass. It is as much a daily routine, as brushing their teeth. How disappointed they would be, if she did not arrive on time. They could even set their clocks by her comings and going each day, quietly...

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As storm clouds burst and lightning flashed, He ran towards the graveyard gate: He’d find a place to shelter there, Although he knew the hour was late. The carvings lit by lightning bolts, The totem poles looked eerie then; He stood beneath, and looking round, He gasped to see some painted men. They circled him with whooping cries; The rain beat down and thunder...

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I walk, head down, careful footing as I study the terrain, the way the shadow from the mountains cover the valley floor the dry wash beds, marked with wildlife tracks, deep and desiccated no monsoon to wash them away no relief, no rain to fill these empty washes, to water this wilderness that lies dry, parched the cloudless sky above hides nothing except...

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