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The pure droplets of heaven are touching the earth
Taking an essence of the soil
Mildly and vividly.
The small plants starts saltation
In a felicitous way
The husbandman is fortunate
For its orchard.
The birds starts seeking for a new place
Desperately and instantly.
For them,
And for their new borns.
Droplets of earth are touching the heaven!
ronnie hunt Dec 2018
Razor on the bathroom sink and the smell of pine and aftershave
Calloused hands
Dirt fingernails
You packed and formed the soil like clay
Like paint
You were an artist, silent in the morning
Coffee before work
One beer after
One beer after and a warm dinner she made
Pine and aftershave
on the stairs
on the carpet
on the carpet on the stairs
Lean in
Lean in, kids
Lean in and I’ll tell you about them
You said,
You are an artist,
Silent and coffee in the morning
Loud and beer on the stairs,
on the carpet in the afternoon
Leather seat
Newspaper dogear
Brewers turned on
In the leather seat,
‘Turn it up,
They’re winning!’
They’re winning
They’re winning
Screen porch
Wooden door
Screen porch through the wooden door
Sitting
Bumblebee Boompa
Bumblee Boomps
In the garden
On the sink
In the kitchen
On the stairs
In the living room
On the porch
You are an artist
Silent in the morning
Loud
Loud
Loud in the afternoon
and winning
KM Hanslik Jan 23
we're hungry and we've come to collect
don't mind what's yours, mind what could be yours;
there's such a thing as "too sweet", and
i don't think i can stomach it anymore;
don't plant seeds in my lawn and call it your garden,
i make my own peace with what i grow.
You call it a catastrophe the way the world is always raining down on us,
i tell you to learn how to handle the blows.

We aren't crazy, just out of our heads a little
our bones aren't broken, just a bit brittle
I know you want to hold the world down with me,
we might even find a way to do it
but don't close doors on the things you've seen
I know you want this to be evergreen;
but nobody with clean hands has ever learned anything
about tending to their own soil.
Mackenzie Dec 2018
All of the colors in the world but
His eyes shook my core
I fell in love with the color brown
When I gazed into them
I begin to drown

I made a house in those eyes
From the ground up
I started to build
Oh I loved you
I'd put him in my will

Home
Wood floors
Memories of footsteps
Love was knocking at my door

For my garden
Only soil as close to the color of those
Dark brown eyes
I planted a life in his soul
Our walls made of solid gold

Dark brown eyes
I could feel him watch me
My favorite color, just like coffee
A cup of you each morning
His touch left my skin scorning

My boy with dark brown eyes
Why would you destroy
The greatest home of your life
M.d
Shofi Ahmed Dec 2018
It’s in my soil that maybe only
a patch of mundane dust.
But the water within it
must not come close to tear
or else no rock from space
will hit the one and only
finest cut the polished earth.
But it can no longer hold
onto its lubricating drop
of water at its very heart.
Losing it to some
one’s harrowing cry!
Vanessa Dec 2018
I don’t want to just
Scratch the surface.
I want to bury myself
with the soil of you.
KM Hanslik Nov 2018
I am not as innocent as I look
I have craters in my bones
my blood flows too quickly and my heart is full of black dirt
but this soil is good for planting
so I told myself I'll be a garden
I tell myself it matters, when
it really, really doesn't
the black soil slips her fingers under my skin
and cradles my skull to her chest
we are flying, she says,
but it feels more like falling;
she is bottomless and I want to reach new depths.
Mackenzie Nov 2018
Fire, Water and Air the main elements of earth
I told him that he is my world
He is the soil where I planted my love and
I hoped he would Water the garden I made for him
He is the Fire that keeps me warm to the core and
It only got warmer when he touched me
I prayed to the Lord to never take my love for then
The Air that I breathe would be taken away from me
Madison Nov 2018
I can feel your being
Slowly becoming entangled in mine
Like the roots of an oak
Stretching its limbs deep down
Into the earth's soil
The oak cannot survive
Without the soil
You have become my soil


and that terrifies me.
i am terrified.
Eleanor Rigby Oct 2018
If only I could collect the rain,
Put it in a jar
And take it to God.

Then I would say,
Here, I found your tears,
They made the soil breath.


-- Eleanor
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