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The rose gold strands of her hair
diverted with the tide of the wind.
The leaves from the cedar trees
brushed leaves growing old and thin.

She gazed up at the overcast sky
full of hanging, dark green limbs.
She liked the sounds of the crackling
like it was singing sweet nature hymns.

She touched the rough bark
of the dark, musky wood.
She inhaled the aromatic smells
which smelled quite good.

She finished her walk in the woods
with a sense of pleasure and glee.
Every smell, sight, and feeling
was ever so lovely.
The woods ring out

For the songs
Echoing around

Of #unabashed song birds
That throat their love
Brooding of vast uncertainty
cupid 5d
i used to love the woods as a kid
me and my brothers had a cool treehouse
even then i was pretty crazy
leading a bonfire for the youth
we dug fire pits out in the woods
and we collected materials for our treehouse
we would stay out past dark
and hide in the cedar branches
there isn’t a lot i wouldn’t give
to go back to our little treehouse
sorry this is isnt good i just wanted to post something
aloakasa Dec 1
one last lullaby
as the nightingales migrate;
the woods sleep till spring
Erik Whalen Nov 27
As usual, the last juice in my phone battery petered out as the bluetooth speaker positioned on the picnic table started beeping and repeating the word "pairing" over and over.

That was the last bit of company that I would be able to fool myself with that night.

The rustle of the mighty firs and the deafening quiescence of the oak trees proved to be a captious audience, with the only essence choking back the seeping darkness a fire pit, searing brilliantly at nightfall.

The flames crackled and burst in the sap-filled wood, giving me an opportunity to drown the eve in the fire's sporadic, propulsive popping.

With no more music to accompany me in the night, I tuned my old guitar, which was resting in the backseat of my car, and I slowly worked out the notes to several melancholy acoustics that I treasured in earnest and frequented as I did eating and breathing.

My world should be quiet, but my brain never sleeps.

As if possessed by a sudden desire to purge old memories, I threw that old album that we so cherished in along with the next few logs.

In a panicked frenzy, I pulled the book as quickly as I set it down, hands searing from the heat, and I stamped out the flames with an old coat I had brought with me.

Throwing another log onto the campfire, I took a dried rag I had soaked in some copper chloride and watched as the flame that came out shined almost a sea-foam green, different from the azure I was expecting.

For once, the aforementioned seeping darkness had crept to the corners of the campsite as the brilliant display lit up the whole area, proving to both be a fantastic show of color as well as the first truly chromatic moment that had happened in ages.

No one had come, of course. It was as expected. It's cold as a glacier and there's hardly any beer, so I wouldn't really blame them.

That's it, maybe we're thinking glass half full.

Slumber met me with its sweet embrace, the only silence I would permit to befall me and the only silence I had been grateful to.

Pale sunshine pierced through a single cloud in the morning late.

A crisp chill and the light drip-pat-pat of the falling rain outlined my mood better than my words were able to.

I'm not sure what I need to feel satisfied, but a glass half empty is not a glass half full.

I checked my phone, which had been on a power bank all night, hoping to have companionship other than a text from my parents or a message from my girlfriend telling me to cheer up again.

Of course, the phone was only at 25%, and I had better get moving if I wanted to be home and enjoy the constant rattling of every day life that drowned these natural sounds out.

If I'm only half-here, then I might as well leave.

I must have been the last one to have been ground to rubble.

I had remained oblivious for many years, before I knew what it was to be without my trademark foolish optimism.

That pale sunshine would have served me a fiery orange, scorching the awoken sky in a torrid, infectious sprightliness.

What was once a glorious, chromatic panorama had become a single, stilted picture frame long discarded, the glass broken from frequented moments of reminiscing.

If I had left months ago, would any of you have remembered me?

As I prepared to leave, I picked up that old photo album, now singed at the edges, and picked up my slippers from the side of the fire pit, which were left to dry and instead showered in the early morning.

I threw the photo album in the trunk and packed the rest of my belongings, heading back home to Camillus where I could pretend that all of this noise was good for me.
Hey guys! Just a little string of free-form lines that I came up with during a choral observation last night, hope you enjoy them!
SangAndTranen Nov 21
Today upon these very fields
Meadows of green and flowers yield
As breeze stops dead and from the leaves
Comes a young girl in khaki green.
Her dress is light, and her song is sweet
As she picks her way on dainty feet.

But she is not the first to trek
Through fresh-scented woods with curling breath
In khaki green amidst the sea
Of indigo and white and brightest green.

For as she scrabbles amongst dirt and stone
She finds in her hand to be a bone.
Unknowing of the man that shed it like
A moulting woodlark born for flight.

Unknowing too is she of the dew
That clings to blades of grass as slew
Were brothers of flesh and blood and heart.
What once was clouded red is glass.

She rises as the night descends,
Skips home with grubby hands and dress
But she is the only one in khaki green
Whom after those woods was ever seen.

The forest left to whistle and sway
Waits for the girl tomorrow-day
When she will escape its clutches once more
Dancing on the graves of twenty-four.
A very belated Remembrance Day poem.
Cephas Nov 17
The night she met her doom
Alone,she walked down the street
To spent The evening in solitude
As the sun had gone east

Beautiful, vibrant and free
Young,wild but a teen
Before her ***** was broken
Her girl pride stolen

John doe hid in the woods
Scrutinizing the neighborhood
For a victim to the terror of his room
And wicked relief of his manhood

Suddenly,her hand were clasped
Mouth gagged,legs trapped
She screamed with no sound
As the beast tore her blouse

15,she was in her prime
16,men took her pride
17,fought to be alive
18,finding a switch to her light

Diagnosed and gifted with fistula
From **** that remains a stigma
The night and woods she will always remember,
As she fights to be a survivor
This is to every **** victims out there,you will find the switch to your light,cure to your curse..Keep fighting, you will win,come out strong..
apiwe Nov 15
I've been watching you
With her.
I've been writhing in shadows
Waiting for her.
To let go of your hand
So I can pull you into my shadows.
Away from her.
Johnny walker Nov 13
Always remember Helen
and I our first real ******
encounter tried to make
out at my mum and dads
house very little success
so we walked to woods at
the back my dads
house
Helen picked nice quite
place she sat a fallen tree
she had on a beautiful
summery dress Helen called
me over drew me In close
then started slowly to ***** me
till completely ***** remember
looking around frightened In case
we were being watched she
laid her soft hands on my
body I forgot about anyone
watching for I was In Heaven
Helen stood up I held and
kissed her and the rest Is
History as Is said, naughty
nice adventurous exciting
encounter In the wood that
day, never will I forget my
naughty nymph of the
woods
Naughty but nice exciting adventurous encounter In the woods with my naughty nymph
have you ever felt completely lost in your own story.

almost as if you are standing in the middle of a dark patch of woods,
not know which way to go or how you even got there.

like you know what you are supposed to do but you have no idea how to do it.

feel out of place when you are the one who placed yourself there, and just thought, who have i become.

who's shoes have i walked in to get here. lost here.

seeing through your eyes yet it's like you've been blindfolded and someone else has been guiding you along this whole time.

you hear people the same as always but you start to question who they are and most importantly who they are to you because behind the familiar face is someone who you feel expects you to decide and make decisions on choices you've never seen or even felt before.

lost in these woods you just stare at different trees and look up to the not even full glowing moon and just stare. not knowing what happened, what is happening or what is going to happen.

lost
nothing to say
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