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Kalarav Sep 17
A purple berried
White flowered ****
With intricate petals
Placed in pairs of three

Has spread its roots
Deep into my heart
Branched into both halves
Of my brain

I watch it grow in awe,
As the leaves
Branch symmetrically
Simultaneously wince in agony

As the roots
Are tearing through
The very soil
In which they grew

Do I rip out this
Uninvited beauty
And leave myself
Scarred

Or do I
Let it flourish
And eventually
Engulf my being.
The lights of ruby, emerald and opal burned the city in their shaking sparkle and illuminated deep violet of September evening - tinkling little jewells (one was bound to remember their illumination) - they connected it all ; rib - like, of such symetric form - with so wide a scope - dreamy little candles, dreary little eyes - what have they made of all the rest? Then, suddenly, a pen broke it all, drew a crack in the city, broke it in half - but the lights lost little of their beauty - like a wild berries ready to be eaten - a voice cried in unfamiliar tone - how could you ever let it all go, look up for a sparrow, a thrush, a bee, rest your eyes upon a child's grave, how will you leave fae queen? By these dear lights I will find my way through thick leaves and bushes and grapevine, soon I will be out to reach for unknown things, alone, with the brightness of dark, as it will illumine the face of all known.
I will know what there is to know.
I will dazzle in the light.
I will rest in the shadow.
The words will cover me with no fright.
Soft days of wistful timelessness
Iridescent wings outside my window
The smell of honeysuckle so thick you can taste it
Red berries stain my lips
Your fingers in my mouth, sticky
I hum with the magic of freedom
With the audacity of leaving the cold, hard, buildings of success
For warm honey moons and foxglove dreams
Sponge cake afternoons and bare feet on cool wood decks
Unrestrained laughter and ukulele strings
A harmony that bends and then corrects itself
The music and rhythm of a slow life, unbound.
Amelia Sapp Dec 2019
come with me
to the secret garden
let us dance with fairies
and eat wild berries

a cobblestone path
leads us to a witch’s hut
she casts a love spell on you
but not on me

frolic through lavender fields
the bees tell us stories
i am listening to their every word
you are listening to my heartbeat

eat these magic mushrooms
that the caterpillar gave us
i can see your aura and i can smell your words
but you know that feelings every time you look at me

i want to leave, this is not my realm
but you were born here
Lyn-Purcell Aug 2018
╰⊰✿´ℒ♡ⓥℯ '✿⊱╮      
Flaky sheets of puff pastry
glazed and golden brown
Fresh vanilla cream kisses
Topped with sliced berries
Sift icing sugar
Sprig of mint
Done!
╰⊰✿⊱╮
Second Epulaeryu of some berry mille-feuille.
C'est magnifique!
Lyn ***
╰⊰✿⊱╮
sunprincess May 2018
Nothing says summer like,
pails full of fresh berries
straight from the vine
rainydaydreams May 2018
people are like blackberries
some sour
some bittersweet
some saccharine
sometimes you have to search the entire field to find the perfect one
E McNamara Jun 2018
My lips are fresh berries
And my heart, a creamy peach.
When I speak,
My mouth drips mango juice,
Delectable and raw.
My mind is plentiful dragon fruit.
My eyes are green melon,
Bright and dewy.
My fingertips, fragile blackberries,
Tender and rich.
My lungs are tangy lemon slices.
To match my lemon soul-
Consuming crisp air.
My tongue, pleasant as pomegranate
**** and joyful.
I am alive.
Can you smell the peaches?
Meg Howell Mar 2018
A sour cherry,
The juice of a berry,
A broken canary,
A lullaby

Snow covered trees,
The nest of honeybees,
A cat with fleas,
A scene

Hands interlocked,
Traditional love mocked,
Insecurities docked,
A dream
Richard Grahn Oct 2017
This is the place where
The bear went through the berries
Grandma always said

Grandpa caught a fish this long
So he hung it by the bed
A  memory of my grandparents who were avid outdoors people. It  is with them that my love for nature found its roots.
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