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If only I could stay
In labyrinths green
Ever wandering
In hallways of sunlight
Nothing more than
A lingering thought
Left floating through
Wooden minds and
Mossy corridors

KNL
Melony Martinez Jan 2021
I find sanctuary in the wet, green moss on the shady north side of the trail
The floor that skitters with the movement of life
The sunshine that scatters through the canopy of pine needles

The forest works alive with motion
And yet there is calm in the silence of the wood
All playing their part in peaceful existence, mostly

The give and take of rotting matter feeding the cycle of new growth
Some flourish while others adapt to the discomfort
Growing where they’re planted and healing the wounds of their lot

Nature finds a way to survive the violence of drought, wind, fire, or flood
And the seeds of resilience live on in the next generation
Stronger, wiser
-elixir- Aug 2020
The old habits set in
like the moss on stones,
clinging to my brain.
                                    Waiting to inhale my
                                     remaining soul that I
                                     grew last summer.
Ann Pedone Jul 2020
there are
times when
the world insists on
making meaning don’t
turn this
into an abstraction
my hand
down
here between your
legs covered
with moss (I can almost
feel your milky roots)
watch my fingers
as I touch you there is
electricity
can you
see it
watch me get on my
knees this is
the sky flowing out
of your hips can you
see it this is
what gives (milk)
to all of my
hungers don’t
stop
let me
make you flesh
into blossom let me
take you down
into me
like the rain
Sage Mar 2020
Like standing on the peak of a mountain range during a lightning storm with my eyes closed,
I am sending myself as a beacon out to you.
With blueberry tinted fingers you touch my face, soft as the sunset mist, and leave bruise colored echoes across my skin,
I am running, skipping my body across the darkening soil like a stone, spinning my way past the orange fungi adorned trees after you,
Can’t you feel the swirling hurricane of desire in my chest when we press close,
the way my body settles like cooling lava around you when we intertwine,
I cannot help but to be shaped by you.

All around us the auroras waltz and curtsy,
the moss cloaked rocks pulsate with earth's breath,
the lightning strikes.
I open my eyes, and you are gone.
To a wood of Ash and Oak I'll go
And in shade of ancient canopy lie
Amongst Moss I'll make my bed

In this mossy sleep I'll die
And on the grass will lay my head
My final ending sight the sky

The Foxes over me will tread
And of a meal they'll make my eye
But on this fact I have no dread

For I will not be there to spy
Brianna Dec 2019
Maybe it was the hazy Sunday morning bliss or the cicadas screaming their annoying lullaby but I found myself drawn to the woods.
Streams of blue and green water and muddy paths that lead me back to sanity every time I come through.

My past has kept me locked in city streets with too many people and too many memories.
My present holds a sympathetic and nostalgic view for the things I love but also a craving for something vast and beyond.

As for my future if they ask me today I might just head to the woods and never leave.
I’ll become one with the moss on the trees and the mushrooms in the ground.
I’ll be the composure for the cicadas and the paint for the sunsets and sunrises.

Tonight we will dream  of the right path to the New York life and the city dreams but tomorrow we’ll find the left path holds the cure to the soul in the trees.
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