Eryona Writes! Copyright Law (c) 2024 - Present

  Where Moonlit Secrets Bide Don’t follow music through the woods, No matter how it sings. For not all creatures dressed in light Are harmless, gentle things. The fae were never innocent, Though stories softened truth. They traded favors steeped in charm To steal away your youth. They danced beneath the moonlit boughs With laughter sharp as knives, And stole the names from weary souls To claim their mortal lives. They offered fruit like rubied wine, With lips both pale and red, But one small bite could bind you there To realms beneath the dead. So if branches start to whisper And the woods grow deathly still, Do not eat what’s offered No matter how they thrill. For the fae love pretty things And humans love to roam… But once they steal your true name, You’ll never find your home. You should question every legend That history casts aside… For magic still walks quietly Where moonlit secrets bide. Original Poetry Written By Eryn Dunbar Copyright 5.16.2026

Women They Could Not Tame They called them wicked women Because they could not be controlled. It was men who held the power, Not the women who were bold. Women who spoke to nature, Who healed with root and flame. Whose whispers stirred the heavens When they softly spoke a name. They feared the wise and knowing, The ones who sensed too much. Who understood the language In every soul they’d touch. So they branded them as evil, Turned the gifted into cursed. Then burned them at the stake So their secrets would die first. But magic leaves an imprint, It lingers in the blood. In daughters born with knowing eyes And hearts that flood with love. And though they tried to bury them In ash, and fear, and blame. Those witches were not wicked… Just women they could not tame. Original Poetry Written By Eryn Dunbar Copyright ©️ 5.15.2026

Fragments of Truth Stories and myths passed down through the ages. Legends of knights, wizards, and mages. Tales of vampires, werewolves, and fae.  Powerful warlocks who turned night into day. We were told that it's fiction... but what if it’s fact?  And millennia ago they all swore a pact. To rewrite our history and create fairytales. Tales told at bedtime to girls in pigtails. To bury the truth beneath folklore and rhyme. So no one would question the ancient bloodline. They silenced the witches, condemned those who knew. Then painted them wicked to alter our view. But magic dies slowly, it waits and it hides. In forests, old ruins, and ocean deep tides. In women called “crazy,” in healers and seers. In stories that somehow still last through the years. So maybe the monsters were never pretend. Maybe the ancients still walk among men. And maybe those tales that we laughed at in youth, Were never just stories... b ut fragments of truth. Original Poetry Written By Eryn Dunbar ...