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 Aug 2019
Nicole
someone out there
is praying
for the moon
for you
 Aug 2019
imperfectstranger
I want to write my own story
But sadly I only hold a poet's pen
Not the pen of destiny
 Aug 2019
Pagan Paul
.
When a Dryad cries …

… the bright red leaves
drip
and the tree stands
in a pool
of blood


… forest green leaves
drip
and the tree stands
in a pond
of heartbreak


… red and green leaves
drip
and the tree stands
in a lake
of sorrow


There is no sadder song
than when a tree dies,
there is no deeper grief
than when a Dryad cries.



© Pagan Paul (01/07/18)
.
Old poem re-written
Dryad - A Tree Nymph/Sprite
.
 Aug 2019
kevin hamilton
one last emerald night
at bonnechere park
thin moon piercing through
glass pendants of a weeping tree
the truth is
i still hide your name  
inside my lips like stolen bread

beneath our lucky stars
i found the ending
i was searching for
—to kiss the sand on basin lake
while the serrated cold of water
and my heartbeats
slowly dissipate
 Aug 2019
Rowan Deysel
With nothing in mind, on the soft green ground
While gazing around inside of a dream
Squinting of Sun, inhaling of sounds
Relaxed, next to a running river's gleam
Serene and sedated, the rustling of leafs
A lease - eternal, an ease inside
A polished, pure and perplexing peace
I slowly sway into the swallowing sky

Sounds of the gush and the wingless glide
Divided between blue and beautiful bright
A meeting of mountains and stars magnified
Below - a haze. Above - the great light
The delight of the earth, protruding and proud
Shrouded silhouettes and gorges that glow
Maps of the sky, echoers of sound
Transport me down to the wet below

Floating on top of the swirling blue salt.
Exalted beyond the liquid haze.
The deepest doors of this massive vault.
A conversation with the warping waves.
A daze of darkness in this alien waste.
Embraced in unknown - pulling me down.
A captive buoyancy with calm erased.
The essence of life, in which I will drown.

Finally, walls, blank and opaque.
The ache of vast indifferent time.
With a failed past comes a future vague.
Measured only by its dangling decline.
Maligned touches of world-less colour.
The collar of emptiness. The forever nothing.
Blacked out details unnecessarily smothered.
A ruined illusion of caring for something.
 Aug 2019
Sarita Aditya Verma
People in my heart
Never have to jostle for space
Friends take the special place
All the suites reserved
Yet there are rooms enough
The doors ajar-open
The last door is infinity
Friends take a special place in the heart!
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Ca6dPcHgdFY
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