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Vines can reacheth up to the sky
Supp'rt'd by the sturdy pine
Given the chance to groweth and thrive
Curl and twist'd up rough skinn'd oaks
To seeth the w'rld through eyes up high
Unreachable but f'r those deep, stout roots
Anon finally able to floweth'r and fruit
Climbing up by the crackling bark
On the backs of the pines and belly of the oaks
@LadyRavenhill
2018 rewrite of 2016 poem
Starting a collection of just my Shakespearean poetry called
W'rds of a Nimble-Footed Mistress. check it out on my profile as I add more, I have so many still to post. Who knows, maybe I will finally publish something?
Kai Jan 14
We are intertwined you and I
mingling together at the support
we are stuck together from the dirt to the sky
you choke me at the roots

Me blossoming as you creep from below
tangling with me at the bottom
like creeping ivy, over me you grow
till breathe does not come from my lungs

I wither slowly when I'm with you
but your my support now
without it any weight topples me, even gentle dew
Breaking away would sprout new roots

but where would they plant
other then in the holes you carved
I need new roots I need a transplant
away from the rocks and the lacing cracks

Fresh soil and a breath of clear air
wear my leaves can spread out
without crushing of lungs and the ghastly tare
Freedom, oxygen, and happiness will wait for me

So for now I'm entangled with you in fear
a dark vine twisted around me
but soon I will escape from your **** leer
and with gentle sighs will bloom once again
Caloris Nov 2018
Veiling streaks on hill and yard
o shroud the yearn of coldest heart.
Low fog does densely cloud in shame
that you and I could feel the same.

Igniting hope within the grey
shall raise the shooting eye
Onward the light; be bold yet humble!
this might be more than mere a stumble.

New radiant warmth beneath the canopy
gives promise of the sweetest progeny.
Velvet hands to touch and feel,
let this desire be our seal!

Early storm comes as monsoon
as if the branches were to prune.
Ends you and me too soon.
This poem is an analogy of vineyards and love.
Jason Drury Oct 2018
Those words,
grow suddenly like thorn weeds.
Without warning,
they spread wide.
Reaching and choking,
reality to death.
It's a chemical reaction,
like chlorophyll to plants.

Blinded by vines,
that are fed by her light.
Thorns of memories,
dig deep until you bleed happiness.

It's perfectly overgrown,
10 years of blissful growth.
How enchanting,
to wither with you.
Sow our seeds,
and live.

We’ve suffered,
intimate drought,
periods of stunted growth,
dark days with no light.
We began to untwine,
then climb to seek a different light.

That day was our garden calamity,
You no longer fed me your light,
Or Nourished my roots.
You uprooted,
you...left...me.
Tori Aug 2018
I have violent dreams
where vines of green
cover everything
spanning endlessly

Their violent bloom
Overcomes the gloom
Of this concrete doom
Danielle Jul 2018
I miss the simple days when you were once
a garden.
I’d prowl into your living room
and nap,
lazily,
across the seedy couch you found
in the basement of a thrift shop.
I paid no mind to the vines that grew
lavishly around my ankles.

The sunlight that cascaded through
the cracks in the windows
seemed to nourish my limbs
as much as it tended to
your own needful soil.

Lately, you seem to prefer
to deny your roots as a bearer of fruit,
preferring to be known
as the flightless astronaut who will
someday discover
a new Earth to reinvent your crops upon.
Autmn T Apr 2018
Your love was honeysuckle sprouts growing with every breath I took. My tears kept them flourishing until they were sprawled up my insides, clogging my throat not being able to decipher the 'I Love You's from the screams. Quickly the vines overgrew and spilled out my mouth as messy as the poems, forgetting what it was to feel empty.
Written after a pull away from strong emotions and a hard reality check, drowning in feelings
Marte Lindholm Feb 2018
Waiting for you
Starts a fire inside of me
I feel it in my heart
The pain induced by the flames
And they heat up
Making the blood in my veins
Start boiling
Slowly killing me

Still waiting
I feel the anxiety
Crawling up
My throat
Spreading its vines
Thickening
Soon choking me
Slowly killing me


The only thing
Left to do
Is to pray that
The fire inside of me
Will burn the crawling vines
To stop the unbearable choking
And I'll finally be able
To breathe again
What to do when everything feels like a mess and I stand in the middle, all tangled up
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