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Beulin S S Sep 2020
I stay hidden in shady woods,

As my world is filled with dark;

My world is filled with hawk...

I search for happiness...

I couldn't find any light;

Yet, I flow as a brook...

To find my role in this life...
To find my role.... I gonna flow as small Brook . Yet, my world is full of dark I can still be happy by helping other with my mere existence.
Lane O Jul 2020
Doting words soothe
Like the whisper of a brook.
With love, spoken,
My heart they took.
Archer Mar 2020
The ebb and flow of the brook
Weaving in and out of the shadows
Along her tree lined shore
Cools and then is warmed
By the blazing sun
The sparkles twinkle like stars
Magically seen in the light of day
The lazy trees dip their branches
To get a drink of her aqua
The roots stretch deep below her
And sop up what's under
Smell the life
All the moisture in the air
The misty spray
Riding on the afternoon breeze
I can't see where you came from
Too many twists and curves
And where you are going
Is a mystery to me
One not to be solved  
But at this bend in your quiet shore
I sit, the soft grasses, my blanket
Mayflies, the tiniest fairies
Dancing to the symphony of you.
I love this song
Its peaceful and magnetic
I want to dip my feet in
Is it cold? Colder than me?
Arisa Apr 2019
The leaf latched onto the thin branch near the brook.
But even leaves, as simple as they are, know when to let go and trust the wind to take them.
kiran goswami Jan 2019
And on some days
I just can't write.
I skim through pages
scribble my name a thousand times
End up realising,
I just can't write.
My diaries and notebooks lie open,
I look at my own words
End up realising,
I just can't write.
I stumble upon words
And fall insides holes of oxymorons,
And I end up realising,
my name and writing together are also an oxymoron.
I look for inspirations and motivations
But end up realising,
I just can't write.
I personify my emotions,
Add similes to my feelings,
Just like a heart broken by love does.
But I still end up realising,
I just can't write.
I read poems and stories
Of writers who could write,
Feeling, maybe someday even I would be able to.
I battle with metaphors
Scratch the onomatopoeias,
I injure the meanings
Spill my thoughts through my veins.
I shout " Alohamora " to my heart a million times.
I trace through the lines of the endings of my stories.
I try to go on like the brook forever,
I hear the voice of the solitary reaper in the daffodil fields.
Yet, as the day ends,
I end up realising,
I just can't write.
The clouds he welcomed,
and let them play
While the sun descended
to kiss his rugged make

The winds would rage
yet come to him
as a petted bovine
tamed at whim

Like a ***** giant
stood the mountain tall,
in brooding silence
as he towered above all

Then the rains came, and
brought a stranger home
She was none like them
yet she seemed their own

In her winding bends
the mountain heard
the frenzied beats
of a heart so stirred

As the brook looked up
and the mountain down
she found calm
and him, storms found

The clouds he asked
how he could move
and mustered his will
for a measure of stoop

She looked at him
with a drowning feel
clutching at her banks
and digging in her heels

The bend showed up
like an eternal curse
carrying the aching brook
like a solemn hearse

One last time
she looked back at thee
the one she killed
in setting free
A moment shared in love can be enough for a lifetime.
Aflaha Feb 2018
Your love is like a flowing brook
Like an autumn leaf, am I

Now I am carried away
Without hopes or dreams

And the soft murmur of your being
Is the sweetest thing I hear everyday
You are the music to my soul!
dpbian Jan 2018
Earlier I had a look,
To a beautiful brook,
But day by day and night by night,
As the sands of time passed by,
The brook turned into a gigantic cry,
With water ***** black and plants did die,
And humans wanted a overfly.
It took thirty seconds to cross that bridge,
But many years for that brook to come beneath bridge.
That thirty seconds gave me a look,
How intelligently we drained that brook.
That's why I say humans are great crook.
Earlier I had a look,
To a beautiful brook.
Now I look it again,
That horrible sight gives me pain,
Again and again more pain I gain.
That sight keeps flashing in my mind,
And broke my dream of utopian world,
Now I believe my dream was inert.
That bridge was sign of developed human civilisation,
What faces of ours will be portrayed to our advanced future generation.
Pledge to save nature
Cné Oct 2017
What would I give for a nook and a book
to cuddle and snuggle and longingly look
the pages unfolding as I listened to
the babbling song of a fast flowing brook.

Oh, if it had pictures, a faraway place,
mysterious villains, a dark alley chase
I’d pick up the phone I’d call in sick
disappear in the mist, leaving no trace.

What would I do to be captured by words
impressed into service by pirates with swords,
adrift without wind, current silently slow
half crazed crew pacing the sun-baked dried boards.

Perhaps of an evening a stroll on the beach
salt, surf, and moonlight on ebony skin
passion full sated on cooling soft sand
last dream of the shanghaied seagoing men.

What would I give for a storybook nook
I’d offer it all the time that it took
to take me away to wherever it would
leave me enraptured by a murmuring brook.
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