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clmathew Jan 21
~Will the sunflower turn to us, will the clematis
Stray down, bend to us, tendril and spray
Clutch and cling?

—T.S. Eliot, "Burnt Norton", Collected Poems 1909-1962

Tendrils Twining
written January 21st, 2021

Tendrils twining
tightly around
pulling me towards?
or is it away?
or apart into pieces?
wrapped tightly
by tendrils twining
these cherished treasures
I have been pulled into
resting here held safe
while the world builds around
over them and me and us
until we are seen no more
known no more
remembered no more
tendrils twining
tightly around.
A friend used the word "tendrils" in a story, and I fall in love with words. Then I found the same word in a poem I was reading. It is nice to just let go and see where the words go.
annh Aug 2019
Tendrils of drowsy pleasure entice and hypnotise,
As daybreak storms; a rapturous collision,
Of distorted cadences and scintillating harmonies,
Between discarded blue-sky sheets.

‘I love to feel the temperature drop and the wind increase just before a thunderstorm. Then I climb in bed with the thunder.’
- Amanda Mosher, Better To Be Able To Love Than To Be Loveable
A M Ryder Aug 2019
Sing the beloved
Young lover, from far away
Often, desire the night
It overtakes us
In an endless uproar
We soon lost sight of the sun
Listen as it makes itself hollow
Where are the years between
You and the surging abyss
Lay there relieved with the sweetness
Of a gentle world made for you
Dreaming, flushed with what fevers
Entangled in the tendrils
Of inner event
eleanor prince Dec 2018
look not beneath
lest night scowl

for history
breaches unbidden

rivulets red streamed
as child song

tendrils grasped
by savage gusts

to rise as scented spring
loosens coverlets

would a tender, respectful approach let love bloom anew
Robin Lemmen Oct 2018
I wonder if you ever reach out
Hoping to find the curve of my body
Connecting with yours at 4 in the morning
I wonder if you ever get lost in reverie
Looking for my love at twilight when the rest of the world
Is soundly sleeping off the day left behind
You move through time without letting it latch on
I wonder if you ever miss my name, on the tip of your tongue
Think and long for those five letters to form a song
But you would not listen to it even if it were to be sung
I wonder if you ever miss my heavy thinking
And how I would share those mesmerizing nightmares
Those midnight tendrils with you
I wonder I wonder, I wonder
Oh how I wish to come home
Austin Stafford Feb 2018
I hate how anxiety even affects my sleep, its black sickly tendrils slithering into my mind and wrapping around my dreams, one by one. Gripping tightly and ensnaring its prey as it twists its scaly body around my soft dreams, suffocating them with its serpentine embrace. A ****** mist permeates my mind as I awaken from my slumber; dead dreams are all I see now. A mental battlefield strewn with the cold corpses of my hopes and dreams. Anxiety came like a thief in the night and took nothing, but killed everything. Sorrow is quickly snuffed out and replaced with rage. Rage and a new kind of hunger. My esurient soul is now ravenous for vengeance. This corpeal soul shall wage war of the likes only seen in legends of ancient battles between deities and monsters of long lost myths. My demons have won this battle, but the war has just begun
Allyssa Jan 2018
It was like an abyss.
Swirling with emptiness,
Black nothingness.
The color was like dark ink on white paper,
Slowly creeping across untouched perfection,
Staining the starkness.
It reminded me of a lionfish,
Slow and poisonous.
Reaching 300 feet,
The sun still breaks the surface with it's tendrils moving with the ocean,
Scattering patterns,
The vulnerable into a predators' jaws.
The deep dark.
Where the fear of emptiness waits,
Where the sun cannot reach,
Rushing water filling your lungs,
Where lungs cannot be lungs but filled with that dark ink.
Your lungs thin as paper,
Stained by the cold currents that continue to fill the empty space.
Paralyzed while everything turns black.
Watching the nothingness consume you but not having the power to control it.
Rae May 2017
Watercolor was
a panic attack
modern art was
coming out of my mouth
spreading through the air
in finger-like tendrils
reaching out
to those who have never lived
what do you believe? what do i believe?
Cody Haag Nov 2015
My hope is sequestered in a black void; it is hopelessly adrift in a tumultuous mass of negativity that devours any veins of light that dare to reveal themselves.

I would follow it into the blackness if the thick, poisonous tendrils of gloom didn't bar my way. It seems that any heartfelt attempts at breaking down the blockage results in terrible growth of the tendrils, and so I'm emptily bound; my emotion has seeped into nonexistence.
Tuesday Pixie Sep 2014
"let's be still"
Blared through comforting headphones
"No, no, let's dance, let's dance"
The little tendrils jiggled in anticipation
"let us join that glorious dance"
But no, 'tis not the time
Though the energy rises
And yearning, yearning, yearning
My heart does cry
- too soon! Too soon!!!
Jumping into a dance
With one foot
Does not bide well for any dancing partner
The little tendrils sighed
- but may continue to grow
Time over time over time
The blood will settle in this wound
Cover over
And soon
- time over time over time
Fall off to reveal shiny new
And stronger, much stronger
And the dance will be all the sweeter
Let's be still
Let's be still
Oh still my beating, acheing, yearning heart!
**** it!
Won't you still!

— The End —