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Matteo Palermo Sep 2018
Blowing on dandelions
Making my only wish
That things will somehow
Work out between us.
Celia Sep 2018
The woods know nothing of your great ordeal
The light leads you to the place you are bound
And in the end, all of the wounds will heal.

From trees, the leaves, fall to the Earth and conceal
Which lay in wait upon the laden ground
The woods know nothing of your great ordeal,

Each bird's sweet song will only help you deal
With that which was what made your heart feel drowned
And in the end, all of the wounds will heal.

It’s not a simple thing a poet spiels
At once you have a sense that you are found
The woods know nothing of your great ordeal,

The world around will have a certain appeal
Your feet lead you towards that which will astound
And in the end, all of the wounds will heal.

It’s hard to have a past that you must seal
But nature will help you feel quite unbound
The woods know nothing of your great ordeal,
And in the end all of the wounds will heal.
D Baby Bey Sep 2018
a cloak of snow,
coats the remnants of autumn.
streams of water cool, and fresh,
pave their way through the undergrowth.
crystal sunlight shines through
the fractals formed on my eyelashes.
vapor escapes my mouth as i breathe.
lungs full of crisp air.
face raw in the wind.
mer Sep 2018
I find it curious the mystery of birds
cawing deep within a morning forest
somewhere in the distance through the mist;
they soar from tree to towering tree
through the faded green and brown
as the entire wood dances to the song
of the soft, lingering breeze.
Sarah Aug 2018
There once was a girl
With a basket full of dreams
Wearing a cape of hope
Walking to her grandma’s house on the other side of the wood
Her steps were brisk
The road was paved
With flowers grown on each side of the way
But as she walked the sunlight began to dim
And long black trees started to enclose the road
Her brisk movements became tardily steps
As she found herself lost deep in the wood
The heart of the wood was dark and foggy
Concealing a creature with sharp claws
Gleaming like two yellow jewels
Were the wolf’s perilous eyes
The eyes didn’t seek the girl
But the precious things she holds
A basket of dreams and a cape of hope
The wood was empty and the girl was scared
But the wolf, generously, gave her a choice
A sacrifice she must make
If she wanted to get out alive
She must give him the things dearest to her heart
She didn’t have a choice, or did she?
To yield peacefully or fight bravely
What do you think the little girl chose?
What would you if you were standing in her shoes?
Alone with a wolf in a ******* woods.
The trees are a kaleidoscope of the green  
rivets of sunshine peak through the canopy of leaves
as the light flows to the forest floor.
Vines wrap their arms around the trunks of the trees
climbing to reach the sun
Each desperately fighting for the just a piece of the warm glow
Robins, swallows, and Cardinals all sing their songs
as they glide from branch to branch
filling the woods with their symphonies.
A fox dashes across a steady stream
leaping over rocks and fallen logs
making his way home again.
We dream apart the past,
flicks of yellow here and           there
where the sun throws its shadows.

Across the white sand beach,
under the overpass,
in the parking lot and
behind my house, where the trees
twist into each other and become woods.

The thicket, braver than it used to be,
the spiders, more clever, weaving their wispy
threads on our path. We laugh and push on,
walk the trails to keep them worn, the rocks
growing heavy in our pockets.

And maybe the muddy bank was a
better home, but the weight is a comfort.
The stones clack together when we walk,

and it's the softest music.
Morgan Mercury Jul 2013
I know how much time you spent on your hair so I will not touch it,
but think of how soft it would feel running across my skin.
I know you hate it when I walk around in nothing,
so I'll try and teach you the ways to love your own body.
And I am here to be your crash pad when you get laid off at work
and come home crying.
And before the day is done I'll carry you into the woods and we'll put our feet in the lake to forget our tragedies,
and remember we're still young at heart.
There is no need to grow up and worry about your looks.
Worry how other people,
we don't know,
think about our bodies
and if they are silently judging.
Let's not worry about money.
We'll just camp in a tent on the lakeside when we lose our house.
And we'll go with the river,
play around like children
and enjoy life and live worry-free.
2013
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