Redleaf_Forest - Hello Poetry

There is something infinitely enjoyable in writing, putting pencil to paper. Nothing specific only the gentle scratchings of a mind as it's formulations become real, incarnate on the thin sheets of nature we consistently find before ourselves when we begin to search for something greater than what we already know. To think to realize to know. To recognize the light markings we draw. Markings made of the softest stone, entirely encased by the very life it stole from the offshoots of nature's heart. Markings pulled across the expanse of a white sea of wood. Even when given these tall wonders that shelter and feed, even then we ask for more, we seek more. We strip the skins and slice the meat, destroying the gift we don't deserve. And when it's finished, when the only thing higher than our heads are our self-empowered and forced presences- Then we write. We write of things we experience and see. We write of the world and what we want it to be. We write of things we don't know or understand. But no matter how prettily we paint our literary landscapes, we can only deface the small ripples and soft whispers of the lost memories of what was once beautiful.

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Mar 3

Mar 3, 2026 at 12:18 AM UTC

The Beauty of Writing

There is something infinitely enjoyable in writing, putting pencil to paper. Nothing specific only the gentle scratchings of a mind as it's formulations become real, incarnate on the thin sheets of nature we consistently find before ourselves when we begin to search for something greater than what we already know. To think to realize to know. To recognize the light markings we draw. Markings made of the softest stone, entirely encased by the very life it stole from the offshoots of nature's heart. Markings pulled across the expanse of a white sea of wood. Even when given these tall wonders that shelter and feed, even then we ask for more, we seek more. We strip the skins and slice the meat, destroying the gift we don't deserve. And when it's finished, when the only thing higher than our heads are our self-empowered and forced presences- Then we write. We write of things we experience and see. We write of the world and what we want it to be. We write of things we don't know or understand. But no matter how prettily we paint our literary landscapes, we can only deface the small ripples and soft whispers of the lost memories of what was once beautiful.

41

Colors, colors everywhere It seeps into my bones I feel alive Lights, lights sparkling Laughter tinkles in my ears I feel joy Love, love spreading Oh to give and receive kindness I feel warmth People, people everywhere Loved ones and strangers alike I feel close Moments, moments passing Unnoticed except to myself I feel forgotten Words, words whispering Sweet nothings and twisted meanings I feel lost Shadows, shadows writhing Pulling down to the ground I feel frozen Pain, pain grasping Crushing soul and spirit I feel suffocated Silhouettes, silhouettes vanishing Worthless and unwanted I feel alone

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Nov 21, 2025

Nov 21, 2025 at 12:36 AM UTC

Season/al Depression

Colors, colors everywhere It seeps into my bones I feel alive Lights, lights sparkling Laughter tinkles in my ears I feel joy Love, love spreading Oh to give and receive kindness I feel warmth People, people everywhere Loved ones and strangers alike I feel close Moments, moments passing Unnoticed except to myself I feel forgotten Words, words whispering Sweet nothings and twisted meanings I feel lost Shadows, shadows writhing Pulling down to the ground I feel frozen Pain, pain grasping Crushing soul and spirit I feel suffocated Silhouettes, silhouettes vanishing Worthless and unwanted I feel alone

27

There was a head in the fridge and a mouse in the blender If I had been John, I’d have put you six feet under You played the game, you thought you were smart I used to wish Moriarty would burn out your heart But now that you’re gone, I want you back Why’d you have to make the fall of Reichenbach?

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Apr 25, 2019

Apr 25, 2019 at 11:04 AM UTC

Loss of the Consulting Detective

There was a head in the fridge and a mouse in the blender If I had been John, I’d have put you six feet under You played the game, you thought you were smart I used to wish Moriarty would burn out your heart But now that you’re gone, I want you back Why’d you have to make the fall of Reichenbach?

6

I can see a star in the sky It calls out to me Shines so bright I feel so alone, by myself out here Is there anyone left? Can they hear Me crying out No one knows what’s going on inside me No one has any clue, but to me it’s so clear I can try I can work I can make my way through If I only knew what to do I’ve come so far, and yet I’m still a lonely star

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Mar 14, 2018

Mar 14, 2018 at 11:39 PM UTC

Lonely Star

I can see a star in the sky It calls out to me Shines so bright I feel so alone, by myself out here Is there anyone left? Can they hear Me crying out No one knows what’s going on inside me No one has any clue, but to me it’s so clear I can try I can work I can make my way through If I only knew what to do I’ve come so far, and yet I’m still a lonely star

14