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I could say when it started; I could feign confidence in this place, in the hour. The truth is, I could sail on the rolling tides of time and I'd still yet never move in a straight line. That's how it's always been - like a clock that lags a split second longer on even numbers, and pauses to scrutinize the odd. Like standing in a crowd, waving to a friend you don't remember meeting. Reading words that make no sense to anyone but their writer, or knowing those words are your own; my own. Words where meaning has been lost, a dying light I never got the chance to experience. One day, I will experience it.
Empire Jul 3
I saw beauty today
In the rusty soil
Vast forests
Mountain after mountain
Until I was surrounded
Then I laid in the sun
Allowed it to caress my skin
Closed my eyes
And I listened
The water flowing gently
Peaceful
The wind blew
It wrapped around me
Throwing bits of hair around
And then it was still
I was still
And it was in that place
I once again opened my eyes
And I saw beauty
First sun-warmed sand
First boots-and-socks-off beach
First ankle-deep stand in rushing water
First SPF rubbed on my face
First crocus pops up in the yard
(Delicately)

Nearby, a young father begins
to teach his toddling young
how to fish.
(Patiently)

Last high-country snowshoe
Last low-country woodstove fire
Last hot bourbon toddy
Last dreamy days of Pisces
Last longing for lost love melts away
(Finally.)

Early over the mountain
the nearly-but-not-yet worm moon
spies the confluence and I below.
(Knowingly)

Here at the place where things change,
the wild world fills me
and I devote myself once more.
(Wholly)

For one who is in love with the chase
And the glory of all things yet-to-be done,
The true rapture of Nature is in knowing
She is too Big, Wild, and Free to own.
(Like me.)
KSC Nov 2018
Birds flutter around,
Like fighter jets,
Flying through and out of a concentration of green matter,
Feasting on the summer’s last bounty,
Their happy chirps setting the background of my nature made hiking soundtrack,
The sun may not be out,
But the warmth that radiates through my soul,
Reminds me that I am alive,
For a fleeting moment,
The stomps of my boots and the flutters in my belly,
Coupled with the beads of sweat gathering at the part of my head you like to kiss,
Time slows down,
There’s no me and there’s no you,
I can feel nature and I dancing in equilibrium,
I think I made peace with alone.
d Aug 2018
i swear my heart mimics
the crescendo of the ocean’s tireless hum
and i am overcome with both solace and grief in knowing that my own rhythm will fall in defeat long before the waves ever stop crashing into the shore
Branden Youngs Jul 2018
Drunk with my name dripping from your mouth.
Fingers curling as gently push me further south.
Your secret is mine
Safe between my mouth and your waistline.
Carving down your spine
Clashing like the northwest coastline.
Dissolving pieces of you into my shore.
This night is my chance to infect your core.
A Simillacrum Apr 2018
Sad to see the past
Turn into our future
When the foundation our
Creators laid was, from the beginning, incorrect
Their every attempt to correct it went wrong
Sad to see them dedicated too late to the cause
Sad to see them now, so infrequently
Almost dead and gone

Honestly,
I'm more concerned for us
Becoming effigies in rust
In a dying world
Vibrancy overlaid with dust
Beaten all to red
Given in to dread
Purposefully wasting
Our batteries to death

Death, death, death

Death,

Death,

Death

Sad to feel it coming on so strong
When you'd rather dance than
Be taken naked to bed
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.
Kilam TA Oct 2017
Being bombarded with temptation
Doesn’t dim the fireworks
That crash like the a Titan gait
Inside my heart
No exposed midriff will propel my drift
As my thirst can’t be satisfied
With the bucket and pulley water they fetch
This carnal passion I feel remains sky-lit
Bright and beautiful
All, because of you
Kilam TA Sep 2017
Love doesn't fail
It withers without proper care
The roots gasp for the final drop
A drop, that is no longer there
When we shed light on our shadowed past
It should bring life
But care isn't attention
It's attention done right
Results may very
As the effort will change
But when all is lost
The seeds, will always remain
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