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Depression Nature Poems | Nature Poems About Depression

These Depression Nature poems are examples of Nature poems about Depression. These are the best examples of Depression Nature poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Epic |

Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis

ONE WORD~

Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis, 
Running through my mind,
Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis, 
Running through my veins,
                                   
A silica odor, dust walks through a fresh desert night, 
Cool air beneath and above the sea.
A warm furnace smell, I don’t understand.
Intricate to rise and receive without knowing.
Up ahead in a virtue distance, 
A mysterious poisonous effluvium light-     
My face feels like a leaf'
My sun holds up its own pendulum rods. 
Inflammation comes and settles in for the night,
There it stands in a pertinacious manner, with quality.  
I resurrect this air created from madness, all over again.
Twilight, rain stranger than strange.
Visions, pursue my path into an infested dark pasture.
"From the red Heaven I fell into the waters of a cobalt Hell"

Perhaps this venerable moment, will pass slower than slow.
PERHAPS NOT!
If I accept, and then decline.
Would this balance the precocious state I live in?
How about when wrong directions follow my promiscuous ways.  
Is my conglomeration of ideas, no longer safe?	
When I no longer value the values of the young.
Will I sleep at the mercy of his ancient heart.
They're the voices give and take from our health. 

Today, those soft, perfect eyes are calling from far away,
Ashes high, vapors and infection welding me.
The bright skies swallow every thin silver line,
Where the clouds sit somehow~ in bacteria….
UNITY! 
YES UNITY! Fantabulously-fantastic!
Always, wanting more than love can touch.

We are living' it up with no alibis!
A way to be and not to BE!
The champagne leaves their cup.
Awaken in a life, disturbed ~ NOW INTERRUPT!
Only in this world, lava will reach her lips.
Prisoners and doers; 
All night…. Too late for a treatment.
Lungs, decaying, evil rats. 
Direction, affection, ending all the inhalation.

Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis, 
Running through my lungs,
Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis, 
Flat-lined my life ____/\ /\___ ___/\______/\___ _______________

By; pd


Details | Rhyme |

Remnants

Sad Heart, now thou art wither’d from the Sun,
What man, or god, will near thee run?
Wrought in twist like branches in Tempests' gasp,
What Comfort, or Gauze, shall be near to grasp?
True ones begotten are the ones now Rotten
And the ones now Rotten will never be forgotten
They are merely sad remains of assiduous Tears
That have been meddl’d with and tatter’d Raw throughout the years

And thou, cruel Mind, that sat’st still thru toiling trail of Night;
Must dream your broken Dreams; thou’rt a sanely flight!
Can thou extinguish passions of Fire, Disease, or Rain?
—tho thy distinguish’d influence trains to abstain
Thy Remnants brought to debris in thy Empty street,
Devour’d by Vultures, their bestow’d beaks entreat
Merely are they cleaning an inexhaustible Mess
Alas! Leaving thy rudiments of Identity to redress....



Details | Classicism |

Karma

Karma was my best friend...
Until I fell for her deceitfulness...
She always had my back when others would try to harm me...
I would laugh at her and the way she would play with others emotions...
Not knowing that I would fall as one of her victims...
See Karma is mysterious...
I guess that's why she is perfered as a female dog...
She has no feelings...
That's why she always wins her battles...
Me and her never see eye to eye now...
I guess we're to much alike...
I also have no feelings...
Some may say that's impossible, being a human with no feelings...
Possible...
See,  My mother is Sorrow...
My girlfriend is Pain...
My enemy is Fear, I have none...
I came in the world naked...
So Karma can't take anything from me that is rightfully mine...
So when I leave this Earthly Hell...
I will leave, knowing that I have won the battle that no one else has ever 
Concorde...


Details | Narrative |

Sacred

Here, the Leaves Engulfed themselves 
in Glorious Golden Symphonies 

Here, the Trickling and Tepid waters
Silked over Smooth Stones

Here, is where we Lay for Hours,
Together under oaks shadow

Here, you enjoyed brief Slumber as
I Ran my fingers through your Hair.

and it is

here, I keep you Sacred, as I lie 
Alone within the Shade.


Details | Haiku |

Texas Wildflower Haiku : Widow's Tears

sun’s heat sunders sand
clustered lanced leaves green hug
widow’s tears collapse

Widow’s Tears is the common name for Commelina erecta var. angustifolia, they bloom on 
Texas beaches in sand or clay, and have the characteristic of flowering early in the morning 
and fading by noon. The bloom in all seasons but I chose spring to be more commonly 
approachable. [1]

[1] Wildflowers and Other Plants of Texas Beaches and Islands, Alfred Richardson


Details | Free verse |

Moments In Time

The sweetest sounds of burning trees
A gentle stroking in the breeze
The calm has lasted past the storm
Cloudy visions, Satan’s roar
Too many sights have passed my way
A time found only in the haze
The softest screams are running bare
My aching bones creak as I stare

You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark

The battle’s started at the end
No one is coming to repent
The sinners grab their wine from prey
No judgment calling here to stay
The sport is reckless to be told
The one is laughing at his souls
It falters nowhere to be sure
The power grows forevermore
Like a spirit in the wind
I have no say in where you’ve been 
But cross the line to come to me
And pay the price for ecstasy

You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark. 


Details | Free verse |

An Early, Experimental Poem of Alternate Lines

The mirror reflects, obliquely,
a peculiar yellow butterfly -- it flutters, flutters
the specks of black my beard is made of
on the breeze.  A daffodil hangs down its treasure
and I spread shaving cream, in great white puffs,
shielding from the wind and rain its yellow
across my face.  The nose protrudes, ridiculous
excrescence.  A leaf half green sweeps up in circles
in the whiteness all around.  A weak chin, think I,
of windy sighs.  Squirrels crack acorns, crunching,
down into a patchy neck.  Very unsatisfactory
remembering winter's almost famine.  The trees --
appearance.  Altogether so.  Oh well.
Quiet.  Steady.  Sturdy.  Oh well.
The mirror reflects, but not uniquely.


Details | Free verse |

Deaf and Gone

I am whatever you say I am...
but, let's get back to reality...

       Three short years ago, this room shined welcome mats across a screen of doldrums.
A place of unfamiliarity that screamed, 
"You don't belong!"
Yet, a voice of reason spoke and said,
"Expand yir' roots. Venture beyond the comfort zone. Academia resides inside that room, but know you won't be alone."
Repeatedly,brainwaves declined what my wife and editor had told me.
I'd say,
"no way, I'm givin' up my soul for free, they read, they pay, like it's always been, the way it's going to always be!"
Unbeknownst to me one day, and with a slight of hand, my "Open Sores" were put on display and surprisingly more than a handful of great ladies and nice guys began to give feedback on what I had devised. 
This interaction was something very new, helpful, and impressive. For a change, it was something real.
For years, those around me were quick to give praise with hidden reasons. Constructive criticism is amazing, and I welcomed being corrected or set straight.
Now there are those who choose to shut me down without explanation, and call me names.
DO NOT mistake me for sophomoric! These words bleeding from my guts have no style and need no approval. There is no thinking involved here, no plan. If you don't like it, fine...don't censor or bracket me in. So what if I am illiterate?  If you don't like "street poetry" or the pathetic stuff I write, don't read it. If I offend you, tell me.
We should welcome those who are different than us. 
Words of truth inspire movement, like fire.
I came to this room to expand my horizons, step outside the box, learn, help, grow. 
There will be no apologies dealt for being different, or for being labelled as something uncomfortable to you. 
This has been an ok room so far, but there is some clique trickanery going on.
If the dictionary must come into play, let me recommend looking up the term "Poetic License."
True, I may not be the writer you prefer, or aspire to be....but tread carefully my friend, for you have no idea of my profession. I've made a fine living, for a good long time, spewing words onto paper. I came from nothing, and may still be nothing to you...still, I do what I love, have no boss.
I am not an aspiring writer who dreams of a life, I live my dream. In conclusion, I must wish you luck in finding what you peddle poetry for. Until then, keep 


Details | Rhyme |

Rising from the Ashes

RISING FROM THE ASHES

Wordancer


The eyes of the dragon seen through the trees
Mesmerize minds and cause bodies to freeze.
Which way to go, which way to turn;
No time for questions when the trees burn.

Just jump in the cars and flee towards town
But the road is cut off as the wind swings around.
No way to go, no way to turn; 
An acceptance of fate, as the trees burn.

The fence of the paddock does not impede
The scorched car that flattens it, picking up speed
Away from the flames, away they must turn
Desperate with fear, as the trees burn.

The breath of this beast lights fires with no flame
The heat of its breath burn all just the same.
It’s tail flames on, it’s head, see it turn
Back towards town, there are more things to burn.

With fire, smoke and tears these folk have learnt
To rise from the ashes; spirits singed; not burnt
A call for assistance, now the schools turn 
To grey squares of ashes; and more townships burn.

The calls went out across this wide country
And the offers came from all and sundry.
What do you need? What can we bring you?
They were told, so they went; what else would they do?

Hand towels, toothbrushes, soap and shampoo
To clean away ashes; the soot, and tears too
Through fire and smoke, these folk have learnt
To rise from the ashes; spirits singed; not burnt

The towns’ people will labor as long as there’s need,
They’ll listen and learn and plant as they weed,
While their houses and schools, fire stations too,
Rise from the ashes, and stand good as new.  

The February Dragon has left for a time,
But hope that heals the scars in the minds
Of the people there, is strong and alive,
They have rebuilt their towns, their dreams and their lives.  

© 


Details | Rhyme |

A Soul Awakened

She is the muse to her own sorrow; She is the digger of her grave. She is the painter of her ocean view and every fatal wave. She is the shadow of her Father; She is the darkness in your sight. She is the night without the stars surrounding pale moonlight. She is the music with no words; She is sweet love without the reason. She is your dreamer with submission cold by warmth with every season. She is your pet with cold intentions; She is your baby scared and shaken. She is the bold and pure- the lost and found, She is a soul awakened.


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