Poems about willow

The cold.
My cheeks flushed pink as I inhaled the remnants of the frail air
Surrounding me - clouded tufts occur
They dissipate as I breathe
I whisper.

The prevalence of rosebuds, nature's pride
Flourish amongst the beaks of the emperor.

Strands of scarlet, stains of blood
They all entail the unrequited sentiment of the weak
The frail entrails dwindling downwards on the empty patches,
Barren warfields where I exhaled.

The enticing floral rain, the vermilion of the soul
The pale old man with the raincoat is watching me
I turn.

Bring me deliverance, old man
The joy of my ultima, the climax of my being
For you watched me ultimately,
For death cheers for me from the sidelines.

Bring me deliverance, for the caress of the end
Is my valentine.

In the briar meadow
Where the wind swings long and low,
Is the memory of a hidden path
Little women may not know.

The rancid smell of Crimson paint
Of Cupid's Scarlet Bow,
Scars its victim one by one,
A branding iron's foe.

It seals the fate of little girls
Before they come to be,
Who hide themselves to kindly peek
Upon the doe of The Briar Patches' knee.

The sweet sweet savor of blackberries
Growing wild along the lane
Delay return as all consumed
The berries from Orchid Lane.

The Whisper of the Willow Trees
That hide the Sacred Kiss
Loft the Billowing Sounds
Of a young lovers' hopeful wish.

But fate has never faltered
A Secret only the Willow know,
Why the Holy Crimson stain
Drips upon the Briar's doe.

Now the Garden only fills
The air of aged chills
Of a yearnings' life that only once
Thorned it's lovely ills.

Scarlet hushed the haunting Whispers
Made upon the Briar's Patch
While Cupid's proof kept itself softly
Far beneath the Willow's match.

Scarlet's quilted choker
Swinging in the breezy wind
Tell the blessed beauty's life
Of a dearly devoted friend.

Life once so treasured,
Now so very long ago
Leave the only trace upon The Garden's Lot
In the evenings' glow.

Beneath the willow
Is where I am hiding
Reminiscing
Recovering
Imagining
Discovering
Beneath the willow
Is where I am hiding

I stroll through forest, still in slumber
Branches sway, as I lumber.
Curtain of weeping pavillion,
Infinite stars down to million.
I sit in prop root of willow's gurney,
Childhood start, I end journey.
Back brings hand of icy chill,
Head brings hand of fever still.
Skin weeps; icy branch to break,
Wind's music through willow lace.
Finally cared for, and feeling slumbrous,
Bedding down forever, in willow umbrage.

Loneliness lingers on like the downpour of an endless storm,
Seeping into the cracks between the pavement.
Sweet, bitter loneliness.
It drapes the leaves of the willow
With the silence of a longing heart,
Like the desperate dreams of a child.

Nightfall creeps into the sky,
Covering the sunset with falsely hopeful stars.
It brings the slow, easy breath,
Spiraling downward toward a painless place-
Sleep.
It is easy, it lets me forget.

Forget the gray clouds frowning down upon the roof.
It turns the pages back softly,
It closes the cover,
Only leaving me to open to the same,
Sad, place when the sun rises.

The rain now drips gently from the branches,
Casting dew across the earth.
Maybe someday I will look out and see the willow again.
My fingertips will shake as I press them against the window,
But I will see the flower.

It is beginning to grow near the trunk,
Reaching a hopeful petal to the sun.

All I can see is a tree.

I would not take it too lightly for its roots are deeply carved into my bed.
A pillow full of your leaves and my arms your branches.
Not even the sharpest of axes can cut this madness.
It was a cold autumn cried our sun and fruit.
The arms lay bear and the trunk grew pale.
I am the fewest of shadows.
The dawn has awakened a distant chill and I am once again running through an arrowless path.

All I can see is a tree.

If she would only let me
Climb the vines of her braids
Lie in the shade by the creek
Sip water from her slippers
Slip the gown from her shoulders
Taste the raisins of her nipples
Die in her arms 1000 times
The widow beneath a willow.

What a radiant soul she is,
Do you hear her sing?

She is slender, strong
And comes alive beneath your fingertips;
You lean into her
And she notices it,
She notices you.

The sound grows larger in her throat
So she swallows it,
Crawling burning cold hot to her heart
And she feels it,
She feels you.

The pain sets her on fire like a star,
She screams your name, she screams into the dark;
Your stare is silent, biting back the words
But she knows them,
She knows you.

What a lonely soul she is,
Do you hear her sing?