MOON 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
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
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. Evergreen.
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.
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
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.
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.