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Christian Jan 2
Your voice,
hearsay of the breeze
when it caresses
the petals in our garden;
zephyr in my ears
as my hands reach your depths,
equanimity broken
like the branches under our feet
when we entered
this forest
called desire.
Samreena Lodhi Dec 2018
Tried to tie the rain drops
when there was rain all around
In the chains of nature’s beauty
I tried to tie it up
Soaked in rain
feeling pretty much cold
heart bathed in love light
Shining brightly in the forest

playing with animals around me
in the puddles
splashing through them
i jumped over few branches
waiting for the sun
But you came right to me
like my light and the warmth.
Nathalie Dec 2018
Pearls of rain kissed each petal

Of pink, yellow and green

As the rabbit scurried to find refuge

Under the old birch tree

The branches mingled playfully

To support each other under

A sky of gray mixed clouds

The howling echo of the wind

Reverberated throughout

the house, announcing

the arrival of the scowling storm

adding a sense of urgency

to fasten all the windows shut.

Trails of papers scattered on

the floor as the air stormed through

the entrance of the study

and the scent of jasmine

from the neighbouring yard

filled the empty spaces.

The cat curled up on the sofa

As birdy remained quiet

And found comfort at the

bottom of its cage; feasting

on seeds that had tumbled

to the ground floor of its castle.

We smiled as the awareness

Of our heightened state

Revealing the contrast

Between the brewing storm

And the peace that flowed

Through our hearts …

Kerri Oct 2018
It’s as if the bare branches
****** my hair
with the comfort of Autumn
Each time
the soft, shushing wind
whispers through the trees.
Beneath a milky moon
I find peace
Knowing that
The heat between
me and Summer
Has fizzled out.
Lady Ravenhill Apr 2018
Love is reaching where
The sunset touches the trees
Only you keep falling
On your raw skinned knees
Unfazed by the pain or cuts
Or the rising bruise
Nothing will keep you
From your true loves muse

Though their absence aches
With the deepest pain
You feel no fear and climb
The treacherous trunk again
Scaling with ****** knuckles
Into the leaves once more
For where the sky meets the trees,
Free hearts may truly soar
@LadyofRavenhill 2018
Amy Apr 2018
My thoughts are the bark
Of an old tree
At the top you can still find the finest fruit
But first you must climb
the rotten branches
Don’t slip on the damp moss
Be patient
The first bite will be worth it
You may fall
But you will come back for more
Kathryn Rose Mar 2018
Don't you dare speak those words.

You know exactly what they will do,
to you,
and to him.

There will be no more
you and him.

Like the peach blossoms
broken from the delicate, young branches,
the verbal hail storm,
the weight of the ice,
will knock him to the frozen ground.

Unsure how much affection he can return,
of how his own whirling thoughts fit with yours.
Your tale, far from fairy, will end.

Your open heart will shrivel,
like the salty sardines you left on the wooden picnic table
in the burning sun.

You will regret your thoughts and
you will regret your feelings,
but know, sadly, there was nothing left to do,
but leave too soon.
A girl sits beneath a willow tree
alone, pondering the branches,
embracing the cracks of the bark
while the scenery around her
flutters away in the bitter wind.
The secluded still point she had
built for her own protection
peaks at the last drop of breath
and roles off of her bottom lip,
but does not completely vanish.
Her thoughts of then and now
pile up onto an abundance of polluted
picture books, stacked beneath
the leaves of the tree. However,
they too flutter away with the wind,
lost in the sea of empty desires
and leave her to ponder the tree;
Only the old willow tree remains.
Her eyes trace the the divide
between the willow and the nothingness,
and she could feel the weight of nothing
pressing down on the branches.
The abundance of absence tugging
each limb closer and closer to her feet
and yet closer to the edge of nothingness.
The willow is now her pondering home,
the place where her free-most self
is trapped under the convexity
of her dearly beloved willow tree.
She sits and sits and wonders the beyond
of nothingness, but feels no inclination
to leave her familiarity, her home.
The bark forms her armor, the grain
becomes her fortress, and the trunk
is her best friend, whom keeps her warm.
She sits and sits, and will continue to sit,
forever more, forever less.
For my dearly beloved girlfriend who struggles with depression, anxiety, and paranoia.
George Krokos Dec 2017
When you hear all those trees
how they sing in the breeze
with their branches and leaves
which are now falling down
covering the bare ground
to pile up in a mound
from where all of them grow
they begin then to show
that season we well know.
Yes, this was written in autumn 2017 - down under.
Henry Koskoff Nov 2017
hiver is the french word for it
but sally calls it blanket time
even though it's cold
yes, the trees may shiver
but the snow and ice
just looks like a coat
if one thinks like that
like sally
they are not then cold
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