Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Kerri Oct 2018
It’s as if the bare branches
stroke 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.

Raw,
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
Henry Koskoff Nov 2017
sally in the fall
was hooked by the sky
lured, engaged, magnetized
because the sky was purely white
or light grey
and tangled in the branches of severe trees
painted orange
then stripped naked
exposed and vulnerable they were
but mostly in the fall
the cozy, coated animals
were squirrels and deer
they scurried
yet knowing in their safety
this is their domain, the forrest
and its floor was a bathroom floor
leaves acting as lavish tiling
everything was dewey and fresh
scrubbed clean by the soap of mother
bathed in her faucet
sally respirated deeply in these times
new, new
Richard Grahn Oct 2017
Treasured friend, reach out your arms
And lift me up into your boughs
Share with me a memory
Here beneath the wispy clouds

Cradle me with tender sprigs and
Rock me gently in the breeze
Caress my soul with autumn dreams
And let me rest here in your peace
ShowYouLove Oct 2017
You are the vine I am the branches
Connected to you the source of all life
You are the vine I am the branches
Connected to you I bear great fruit
You are the well source of living water
I am a cup for your blessings outpoured
You are my shelter strong tower in the storm
You are the rock my salvation
You are my solid ground and firm foundation
You are the source of life everlasting
You love a sacrifice of praise and prayer and fasting
Apart from you I am nothing I am empty
In you I live and breathe and have my being
Next page