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Leishgn Raj Jan 23
Proud? No. Yes you are.
Think that you are the most beautiful
So you are there as  you are.
None can replace you.
You are the night dream girl
No men are not here
Without appreciate your beauty.
Who are you? Where are you from?
When look at you no other thoughts.
You are the unwritten epic and
Undrawn image giving name and
Fame too many legend poets
You are evergreen love to lovers.
Arise, fair moon waiting to see you
To  praise your beauty.
Also waiting to get thought of you my moon.
                                                         -LEISHGN RAJ
sudden look at the moon and its thought
Abigail Hobbs Dec 2018
Meeting the evergreen and
the calm scene in my dreams
Just two there in the moonlight
never knowing what to do there
with so much night
Beneath the moss lie our thumping hearts
Never looking up
to see when the morning starts
Elizabeth Zenk Oct 2018
Whimsical Douglas-firs ******* the fog.
Pointing to the morning moon.
The looming trees swooping up the stars and hiding them until night comes again.
The needles scatter the earth below,
creating a blanket of burnt umber flakes.
The moss-covered evergreens providing humbling shade and jaw-dropping visuals.
My love for these pine forests
will live on.
Hunter Green Sep 2018
These emotions fuel fires,
I get excited watching them burn.
Every time I look it has a new flare,
So bright I don’t want to look away,
It spreads and I don’t care,
I let it destroy just to watch it go.
I sit here tossing more gasoline,
just to smell the evergreen,
It only lasts as long as it burns.
you’d think the arsonist would be the one who learns,
but mistakes don’t make lessons if they feel good,
when you think you can fix them on your own,
you only get so far till you get what you’ve sown.
Letting go of conviction will leave you no escape in times of temptation.
Lemonade Jul 2018
Seeing her bald seemed pretty fascinating,
While he wondered if anyone would ever look that beautiful without hair.
since i was small,
i wanted to live forever.

every dawn is a hit of reality
and i’m eager for another.
and another.
and another.

i exhale, my cool breath hitting the air -
flavored with desperation;
is it so wrong to want more?

i wilt, only slightly, thinking about the end.

when i slouch in my chair,
i feel my heart shift closer to the soil at my feet

and i do not sink in the midst
of the flood -
i do not lose myself in the rainwater
pooling at my ankles -
i do not clench my eyes shut,
fearing where i will go
when i do

i need this more than you,
i swear.

and when i feel the back of the chair
digging into my spine
or the quiet, creeping ache of age
tugging on strands of my hair,
i resist; i deny it

the adrenaline of dawn’s kiss
is my defense against the rot,
but the night reminds me
of being small with skinned knees and a medicated wish.

i surrender, subject to the infestation of memory -
yet, my oldest prayer continues to echo
in every inch of this room:

sempervirens, sempervirens
(always green, always green)
first draft
you, an ever-changing evergreen – are
lovelier than yesterday’s morning rain, and
more curious than tomorrow’s budding lilacs.
lost, i find myself in your lively touch.
my pain, the mirror i peer into when i pick up a pen;
i smooth my hair, wipe the snow dust from the corners of my eyes, say a prayer.
am i a vessel of love and devotion?
or simply, am i a constant sea of fault
left bruised – bruised like rotten fruit that has fell from the tree.
if i could meet your gaze, instead of
dreaming in verses,
i would press my fingers to yours
and all but flinch at your needles
as they ***** my skin.
i envy nothing about your days – dim, even when the sun dresses in her sunday best –
except, that your immortal wisdom
is a sunset i will never see:
like a clockmaker with no sense of time,
like a bodyguard with no inner strength.
my hobby – collecting comparisons:
lining up metaphors like calendar days.
words cannot mend your pain like they mend mine

poetry moves my mountains, but will never move yours

you, an ever-constant evergreen – are
lovelier than tomorrow’s starry sky, but
trapped. if i could meet your gaze,
i would close my eyes
Bee Feb 2018
It’s been raining for 22 days straight and I
couldn’t tell you why the evergreens weep like
they do but if you must, the skies ravens are
bellowing what they’ve witnessed in a song we
will never understand and will endlessly hear.

Feathered armor protects the branches that starkly
plead for handfuls of the sponge-clouds above.
Why don’t we listen to the warning calls
of the floods coming from God’s eyes?

The sticky moss resting on the north side of the
rusty hemlocks will tell you, the record is 55 days
since they’ve seen the sun---a dialect less penetrating
than the all-too-inviting cries that echo the woodlands.

Whispers of the breeze flowing through the trees
are not enough to overcome this tempest that is steeping
slowly and surely the habit of nature will wash its face
clean of any inadequacies.  Now, if you told me

it rained here over half the year, I’d believe you.
Not just because it’s the Pacific Northwest, but because
I’ve witnessed the consistency of the pure quietude, of the
circling crows that count every beat and divide every lap.
Their dependable vantage forecasts any storm.
Lovely Feb 2018
It's a teenage day dream,
To be voted prom queen.
She's only eighteen.
Already seen as the loser.
They are all so mean.
Her hearts a broken machine.
Got a vaccine,
It makes her unseen.
Living by the beauty magazines.
Hanging in an Evergreen.
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