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Emma Apr 24
The way I have dealt with my traumas
Has varied.
They have moved as swiftly
As the seasons change,
And have always adapted to the current climate in which I live.

For a short while, I could pretend as though
Nothing happened.
I could pretend as though my pain was as
Invisible as their ability to love me,
And that I was as unaffected as
An old oak that has weathered storms past.

Then came my acceptance, and my fight.
I fought.
Hard.
To be seen, and heard, and believed.
But alas, this was not to be.
It was then I learned, that sometimes silence is what is needed
To weather a great storm.

Then came the talking.
With endless cups of coffee,
And whistles that glowed in the dark,
I learned what it truly meant to share my pain
With one that would not tell my secrets.
Who could not tell of the demons dancing throughout my head.
To truly learn that trust can
Also weather a great storm.

Finally, has come nothingness.
I try, desperately to forget the remaining threads that
Tether me to my memories,
Even when I still can’t sleep with my back away from a wall.
It is not a time I wouldn’t be keen to forget.
There is no storm worth remembering to weather.

There is no storm worth remembering.
To everyone unseen, or seen. Believed, or not believed. Silent, or not silenced.
Kyle Mouat Mar 21
To you,oh dangerous road
Who sweeps many a traveler off of their feet,
Carry me off to distant lands
That I might see the beauty
That is laid alongside you
Before my short journeys end;

Upon that end allow me peaceful rest
On the most distant mountain
Under the line ancient oak
Gazing at the setting sun
Waiting for the light of moon and stars
To bathe me as I enter a deep slumber

And dream of damp, wet days
With darkened grey skies
Miles over fields of green
Populated with mighty cedars,

Who provide a dry shelter
For those upon the ground
Who call the moist soil their home;

Wake me softly with your rain,
And make me speechless
To see that my calming vision
No longer is a wild fantasy
That I could only see within my mind.
Karijinbba Sep 2021
keep me posted.
I am heartstruck.
willow gold you.
you play hide and seek
I play if love is the end..
Remember my story poems
you remind me of someone
I touched your robe poet
beyond inks facade is love
I am safe with you
you are safe with me too.
to many welcome hellos.
You reign wisest poet
how shall I pen it best?
I'm not lit red ridding
hood just a fool for love.
you know I write to ghost
I am busy living like you.
my secret garden prose.
Ts better to have loved
and lost then never dear.
I paid bitter fines
for being a fool seeking love
your sky paints me loving.
and true so I am.
~~~~~
By:Karijinbba
https://youtu.be/UxWypmkl-Co
Nicole Bataclan Jul 2021
I see my book on your shelf
And yours on mine,

I would take our afterthoughts
And turn them into rhyme.

Every love story starts with
A blank page.
Take note,

People still write letters
Left for others to quote.

Each day with you
Leaves a poet at a loss for words.

I love you, Darragh.

A time for us,

A private bookcase
Sealed with kisses.
Elioinai Jan 2021
When the leaves turn gold
I stand in joyous awe

When branches become bald
dread creeps in to the raven's caw

I feel the Red Oak's scarlet kiss
turn like death upon my lips

When every year my confidence slips
that I will see bright life in this
Remind me that green comes back
That verdant veins will run wild again
the dry earth will not crumble away
before spring rains sweep in to quench the brown decay

It comes back
Life always comes back

all that becomes old
will be restored
will be renewed
Let me wrap you in my arms
With no harm,
An oak like kiss
A soft touch,
Closed eyes
Listening to sound of sticks sizzling
Til they turn to ashes!
Golda, do you remember the broken bridge of oak?
Lying o’er the river of the east; the broken bridge of oak
Golda, do you remember that Autumn sunset of red?
That sunset, I rested on that cold bed of ambers and red.
The sun was the brightest red of all light
The river kept flowing its gracious paths

From here, I saw your strands of red, fluttering with this zephyr; there
From here, I saw your nimble feet tapping grace, onto my heart; there
From here, I saw your vivid smile widening mine as this azure sky; there

As my cornet, that night, breathes the song of a thousand nights.
Your feet, that night, taps to my heart, a joy of a thousand sights.
As I dipped my feet onto this great river of the east,
I heard your feet lapping this great river of the east
As our feet were lapping this great river of the east.
I felt your fingers on my heart and… mine on yours.

This blue day, forty-five autumns and rains have come and gone by
From here, I see your strands of red, hidden in an ebony box; there
From here, I see your nimble feet, hidden in an ebony box; there
From here, I see your vivid smile, hidden in an ebony box; there
Golda, As you lay peacefully in that ebony box, alone, in that bed,
I shall lay like you lay, calm, on this hot stove of ambers and red
Till I meet you on the other side of our – broken bridge of oak.
This is another one of my works. I hope you enjoy this.
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