unsheared sheep dot green
mountainsides lit by hazy
rays peeking through clouds
About the Creator
Libby Walkup
40-yr-old nonbinary, demisquared, neurodivergent personal essayist and poet. Go deep into your writing practice with me at THE(slow)POET for two weeks of free access to meditations on slow living, creative practice, and writing prompts.
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Amazon River Is Cursed
I wander through the dark and mysterious night, lost and alone, my heart and soul drained; it was once full of wonder. The world is a dull and faded gray, once so full of beauty, a heart heavy with weariness. But like a beacon shining in the dark, a glimmer of hope appeared. The chance to escape, to break free of my fears. A journey, a quest to return to the magic I once knew. I must reignite the spark. I am once again full of wonder. I find myself in a place full of myth and legend. A place where the Yacuruna roam with their unrelenting power. The guardians of rivers, their secrets, and treasures untold. The place where the unknown lurks and the brave shimmer as gold. I think of the stories of beauty and the might of their ability to lure a victim into their sight. Their power to bring bounty and despair, the capricious figures dreaded beyond compare. I see them as beautiful, alluring beings. As guardians of the rivers, they might be unseeing. I see them use their power and their right. To bring life or to extinguish the darkest night. I think of the rituals and the offerings made. The worship and chant that promise aid. The shamans and healers do them for the respect, the beauty, the curse, and the land.
By Owen Belenabout 6 hours ago in Poets
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