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Out of the darkness
I claw and rise to see
There is a forest inside.
The green surrounds me.
The sun's rays splatter
Me awake to my open body.
I let in the light
I lean into the forest
With the trees holding me up
- as I tilt to fall
Reinforcing my stand I forgot
- I was a part of.

The green has grown so strong
Like the blood that sweeps away
Inside of me to a rivers tune.
I don't want to leave this place,
Fearing it will be taken beyond
Or that it was never mine.
Reinventing this woodland
That has always been inside.
The pine, the wind through the branches, the owl winks.
It has always been here with me
Compelled to germinate
Waiting for my return.
I lift up my head and the sky
- Is so blue.
Recovery from PTSD
Frank DeRose Apr 3
Sometimes it is hard to know how to forge
     ahead.

The news has never been good, but recently it seems increasingly bad.

The grass is still green here, mom.

But it's drowning in rivers of red there.
Dead and brown and gone in other words and
other worlds that are even
still
part of this
     one.

What are any of us to do?

How can any of us bear not to bear witness?
And in bearing witness,
How does any of us retain the strength to live as though all is normal when it is so painfully obvious that it is not
so painfully obvious
that this cannot possibly be considered normal
or that if it is considered normal
then it is so painfully obvious that it should not be
that we should not want to be part of a world where this is normal.

So I return again to the question of how
is any of us supposed to forge ahead in a world at war?

Sometimes I take comfort in the idea that this, too, is the human condition.
We are a communal species, but a species that has always been at war with itself.

Nation against nation, tribe against tribe, clan against clan.

The only difference now is the scale.
We have globalized and commercialized war in a way that people 200 years ago would have found incomprehensible.
We have COD-- excuse me,
COMMODIFIED is what I meant
it into video games and movies and bumper stickers of AK-47s and how
how I ask is any of us to press on in a world so on fire that cities are burning and children are lucky if we can pull them from rubble and somehow hope that they, too, will not later seek to wage the destruction they were born into and borne out of.

And yet still,
The grass is green here, mom.

I barely know how we can love this world.
I hope that maybe we can still manage to love inside this broken plane. The myth of a phoenix is a beautiful one. Born of the ashes made from fire in a world that cannot cease
fire.

Always we hope for rebirth.

Somehow we must find a way to love
something or someone or some place.

In a world where the grass is still green..
And hopefully,
maybe,
can be green in otherwheres, too.

Grass does not grow if it is not watered.

And yet
we have poured a monsoon of kerosene on the plains of dead grass in a drought amidst famine.

Recall--god gave Noah the rainbow sign, said no more water, the fire next time!

What recourse do we have other than to love?

Love that which has burned
Love that which is not burned yet and which we hope to protect.

Love one another and hope against hope that this time,
Maybe this time

The grass will grow green there, too.
Safana Apr 1
One day, I'll be Habeeb of my sand.
I shall undoubtedly
be the sun on my seashore.
I, like my son,
will be Habeeb for it.
I'll feed my sand greenish.
It will be clean and free of dust.
Nigeria
Little Leprechaun I don't want your gold in your little black *** and don't want your wishes with your sketchy after thoughts. I would just like your heartfelt friendship and a little luck.
Michel Robert Triska copyright 2024
Isaace Feb 26
I have put the Emerald Green to one side.
Submerged— within the lapping tide!—
Look now! Steadfast!—
Stronger than the Ark's iron mast—
Three angels approach above the water!
Transfixed, I set my gaze beyond the Light.
Shall we reside beyond that hallowed glow?
I wish, I was a Rainbow Colour.
That defined My Life, at Night.
One that made Me look, a lot more Fuller.
One with which, I'd shine Bright.
Yellow is a Colour, that's Contagious,
It has a Smile, that's on a Boil.
It's the centre of Joy and Happiness.
A Life without Work and Toil.
In Red, I would look Bold and Handsome.
I would stand out, in the Crowd.
Warning all, When there's danger around,
I would move around, like a Cloud.
Green is a Colour that matches Nature,
I would be ready to Jet, Set....Go.
It is Zealous and has lot of Passion
Sky is the limit, l can Grow.
I would look Suave , if I was a White.
But actually I'm Black and Blue.
Life has painted Me with these 2 Colours
and I'm stuck to them like Glue.
Ander Stone Jan 25
still as the wind
would allow me to be,
witnessing her
as vibrant
as only a dream
would seem.

eyes of green,
eyes of dream,
eyes of fading leaves
in a hot August sun.

still as the earth
would allow me to be,
absorbing her
as impermanent
as only a revery
could ever be.

eyes of green,
eyes of dream,
eyes of shaded clay
under blades of sage.

still as the fire
deep within my heart
could burn.

gazing longer than I should.

still as the the gentle ocean
of her chartreuse eyes,
reveling in her
marble meadow,
with those twin ponds
of green,
in a passe-partout of
ebony locks of wilderness.

gazing longer than I should.
gazing longingly
at her eyes of endless summer,
eyes of green,
eyes of dream.
Olive and sage.
You said you loved the colour green
The shades hidden in leaves
the froth beneath the seas

And everyone that knew you
learned to love the colour too
And now I see it
in every metaphor of you
glass Oct 2023
blue rocks blue skies
blue water blue ties
unexpressable thoughts
unconveyable eyes
dry teeth from careful smiles
expired, denied, relying on time
blue hearts blue guilt yellow lies
090523
I S A A C Jul 2023
scrolling or snoring
calls from men and divine i am ignoring
ponder on topics not so boring
trying time, double my dosage
ivory mind, cracked porcelain
back to scrolling then snoring
either wrapped up in work or my blanket
my daydreams like lightening
suddenly flash, reality i cannot grasp
then a voice follows mumbling crass
words, worlds, bridges, roads
open doors then immediately close
it is scary, it is a journey
that my soul has been yearning
discerning 3rd eye glowing
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