Books~wife~pagan~ knowledge seeker~ free spirit with an aspiration to become a published author.

Grid View
List View
  • sarah_campbell 22w


    We are fallen stars and we are Gods. Just a little lost, seeking a cause but our paths are tossed and crossed. We are the infinite experiencing a finite space of time, we create egos all by design. We get lost in the story, and forget that we are divine. We are fallen stars and we are Gods. You simply need to search within your own mind, you have all of the answers and your soul is so beautiful and kind. We are not meant to be confined. Seek within and profound wisdom you will find.

  • sarah_campbell 37w


    There is no beauty, that does not evolve from the mind. I wish I had an answer for the blind, I wish I could show them a map that doesn't snap because their soul is too heavy, they didn't know how to bury their envy. Instead, they gave ego a name, put their shame inside a neat frame, they became a pawn of the game. I wish I had an apple for the sheep. At night I hear them weep, too afraid to take the leap. Oh I wish I could tell them how if you close your eyes, the universe sings. Letting go of your demise may sting, but that's because it molds your wings and makes you a king.

  • sarah_campbell 39w


    The art of death, is we die so young, we are never granted the chance to mourn. We are surrounded by skeletons that speak of life, as if it is a butterfly too fast to catch, and we are too weak to fly. We walk as if we have lost a limb. We have lost our way because it is easier to name ourselves Grim, than to mold a new skin. The art of death, is that she flirts with you. You are engulfed by sweet perfume, and tender lips that leave you cold. The art of death, is we never remember our last breath.

  • sarah_campbell 52w


    Sometimes I wonder about times past, I sit and I ponder, and I question if time exists, does it compare to the goodness of aged wine. Or is it a fantasy such as the magic that looms as the moon shines. It is endless as it is vast, it is described as an infinity that dances in a single flask. The hopless have the tendency to dream of hope, within that love and fear elope. Time teeters on the edge of our minds, it binds us as we question our own kind, because answers are such a struggle to find. Sometimes I wonder about times past, and I ponder if our minds will last when these questions are not asked. As I peered into my glass, it twirled and it bubbled, aged wine never questioned time. Simply because we are the ones who defined this curious rhyme as sublime. We never allowed this moment in itself to shine.


  • sarah_campbell 54w

    Some days

    Some days I get depression that tugs at my lungs and begs to be sung. It's dark but it feels like home, it seeks me when I'm alone, but the noise never drowns, because it resides deep within my bones. Sometimes suffocating is what others see as procrastinating. Sometimes despair looks like a wishful stare. It is a smile that doesn't meet the air, words that get stuck because there is no room on my tongue, it is tied with internal affairs that travel nowhere, no place to define repair. Some days I get depression, that takes my name. Some days, are eternal. My mind paints shame, and my thoughts are lit in flames. Some days, I dream my life away, some days are today.


  • sarah_campbell 78w

    His grave

    The whole forest is his grave. The crow is saying his name, caw to the brave. For the roots of the tree are not to blame, mortality must not be portrayed as shame. Balance is the essence of the crickets humming amongst the bones of the Ancients drumming. Beauty is in the fear of not knowing, but the essence of your questions overflowing and growing. Death must not be masked, we must celebrate with bitter sweet wine dancing in a glass. The universe is not concerned with the dreary ideas rooted in mortality. It comforts you in the ideas that you are held by gravity and have the chance to dream of a distant galaxy. So when you find his grave, be brave, and mimic the crow so your love may be saved.


  • sarah_campbell 79w


    Society calls out for God. Oh please help us, our laws are built on crumbling straws and our faith is a fraud. Religion proclaims to be loyal without shame. But what if loyalty is only paint? Water color dressed, a desire to tame, when we were meant to dance in an ever rising flame. What if I told you, that there is no God endlessly twirling destinies. But instead, the universe dreams of complexity, and the entity thrives when the birds sing for serenity. What if I told you that God is the sparkling stars, that traveled to Mars, to fall in love with the clouds that loved so deeply you could hear it aloud. So when the rain dances on your window pane, just remember, that God never wanted you to be tame. So dance my love, in the ever flowing flame. Let desire call out your name.

  • sarah_campbell 94w


    I dream of being free, where I belong. Souls don't thrive in cages, they cry a mournful song. I tap on the glass; what defines these blue hued walls? Whispers, all great civilizations must fall. The definition of free is lost in watercolor; it slips and it drips, the desire consumes the taste of fire. As the lust to be free consumes our lungs, the thought stays stagnant at the tip of our tongue. The word dances through aged and morally crippled hands, who tighten their grip, the dream dissapates as if it was fickle sand. Do not let the dream of being free, get caught in the lyrics of a wishful song. The more you declare the foundation that you presumed was always there, the stronger the retaliation, when you see you have been wronged, all along.

  • sarah_campbell 102w

    Fallen leaves

    The roots of a tree do not see the obstacle of the wind that forces her leaves to flee. She still reaches for the Sun, and never dreams of having legs to run. The harsh winter months were never named as an adversary, she called out to death as beneficiary. For her roots laid themselves in the ground, even more sound. She understood there was wisdom and strength to be found. You may find serenity through the leaves of a tree, you may even find your identity, for humananity has a tendency to find each apple separately. My dear, you must see, the leaves are not the tree. So when they do fall, do not find it a tragedy. You mustn't mourn, over the essence of mortality. For the leaves are not your reality, your roots are painted through the galaxy.


  • sarah_campbell 112w


    I see death crawling on the floor searching for more souls to use as decor on his red door. I watch as he quivers and shivers, the air goes still and whimpers. Death is not merely the black sheep that makes distraught mothers weep. He is the mysterious dance of the leaves, and the white sleet of snow that stains the street. We mustn't fear death. For he eloped with an elegance named Beth; who introduces herself as a baby's first breath. Her depth was sure to intrigue the cautionary death. She was never afraid to lurk through the bottomless tunnels, she would dance and intertwine with his troubles and struggles. To have one, and not the other, is simply thunder in the summer.