A branch seems like a flimsy piece of wood, a stick with no purpose other than to poke people with or hand over to dogs to win their affections. But it’s so much more, for a branch is what keeps leaves on a tree. It helps make our world more colorful.
All we can do is keep breathing. Branch by branch we climb, ever higher, ever closer. What awaits us? A life to be lived, a goal to be reached. But that’s not the point, is it. The point is the breath. It’s not the summit, it’s the branch. The ground stretches below us, always in sight, but it has lost its importance. Sometimes one of us falls – loses sight of the branch and tumbles down, down, down. The point is the branch. We must always focus on the branch, and above all, keep breathing.
She slipped under the branches of the cherry blossom trees and gazed up into the pale pink blossoms against the black bark. They looked so delicate, so fragile. Just another week and they would be gone with the first wind or rain. Above, gray clouds were gathering, ready to drop rain.
The tree was swaying in the wind. Everything seemed to be standing still except the branches. You could hear them creak. You could hear them crack. It was mighty peaceful. Then before you know it a bird perched up upon the branch singing it’s lovely song.
Sun fell through the branches on her face. She sat in the sun, hoping it will soak her sadness away. She thought and thought until she just let herself be lost. The sun continued through the branches.
The branch from the tree was about to fall off. It hadn’t quite yet, but the weight from the weeks of snow and barley any sun were keeping it down. It must be like atlas who had such weight on his shoulders. But this tree had snow on it’s trunk.
“Too far out on the limb,” she thinks. “He’s going to fall…” But he doesn’t. Teetering on the end of the branch, he takes one more step, out into empty air, and stands there, motionless, nothing but the soles of his shoes and eleven feet of space between him and the rocky sand. “It’s all about believing,” he murmurs almost to himself, smiling a little. he takes another step, and another, swaying from side to side and placing his feet carefully, as though on a highwire. Further out he walks, and faster, until he seems almost to be dancing along an invisible line, drawn out from the end of the treebranch towards the gentle lapping of the grey ocean. He keeps spinning onwards, upwards now too, until he is so far out above the sea that she can’t bear it anymore. Tears begin to stream down her face. “Come back!” she shouts fruitlessly, hough she knows he can’t hear her. He’s too far away for her to reach now, and he’s lost all notion of anything but the air around him… as she knew he would.
i thought of you
and nothing came to mind
i tried to be something
and futility came to mind
the dirge, the same sands, the walking dead
crick crackled over the vast terrain
sometimes i felt out of touch
with your body
and the branches beneath
as the bones in your arms
got crushed.
A branch could be of a tree or a franchise. Tree branches vary in length – from thick to thin and they can also be sat on or climbed upon. Climbing a tree without branches would be very difficult. Also, there would be less injuries of children of children and adults alike falling out of trees.
Harold wanted to extend the olive branch to his wife, but she was unwilling to take it. Probably because it was quite literally an olive branch, and she had no use for it. Harold had never been one to understand figures of speech or metaphors, so when his therapist had encouraged the gesture, he had gone to great lengths to find a limb straight from an olive tree.
“I don’t even like olives,” his wife griped as she went back to her separate bed.
“I’m done; deal with it.” She screamed, turning and running toward the house. Tears mixed with the rain pelting her skin like razor blades. She heard the loud roar of thunder and crackle of the tree branch. She stopped and listened. Turning she ran toward him. “Hold on, I’m coming.”
Once you start to grow things happen. Whether you want them to or not. A product of this happening is branching. Essential to humanness and growth and knowing our eachother. Branching is what makes us whole.
It swings in the winds. Flowing, Catching on anything that is in the way. Know where to go and whats its purpose is. Knowing that one day it will die just like the rest and fall to the ground with its fallen brothers.
The lonely little catterpillar sat on the tree looking at the butterflies.
Those stupid butterflies,
With one touch dies,
And constantly compare themselves to others,
And need to be adored with their insufferable colours.
I’m happy being a little bit furry, he said. I get to live longer.
I hung on to the branch with determination. “Ebony” King shouted, “You need to let go! I promise I’ll catch you!” I looked down to where my eyes met the cliff edge. This was the riskiest thing I’d ever done, but I allowed my hands to slip off the tree branch, praying King would catch me…
I was hanging onto the branch for dear life. It was practically fifty feet from the ground. Oh shit! I thought inwardly. How the hell am I supposed to get down from here? It’s going to be impossible, then I wondered how I had gotten up there in the first place.
Trees have branches and so does government, I never can remember the three branches of government but im sure its like executive, judicial, and some other bullshit but tree branches have leaves
my branch is mechanical engineering. some other branches are computer engineering, electrical engineering, electronics and communication engineering and civil engineering and information technology.
She hoisted herself up onto the limb, her body seamlessly blending in with the branches and leaves in a way only accessible to one born of and into nature. I looked at her, awe surely etched onto my every feature, and watched with fascination as a blush worked it’s way across her cheeks.
“What?” she asked, her voice quiet, almost embarrassed, as she pushed a stubborn strand of ebony hair behind her ear.
“Nothing,” I said. “You’re just…you’re beautiful,”
there are several things i never understood one of htem was whyt he chestnut tree next t o mfather’s house grew to be so big as it did before we finally had to cut it down because its roots went under the foundation of the house and chafed into the side wall of the house, rendering it the brittle old construction that it really ways. as kids we bundled up the leaves and jumped into the heaps, collecting myriads of chestnuts.
Your words intervene mine, like branches, flawlessly surrounding each other with pretty leaves and blossoms and glorious things. I need you. That thought had ran through my mind all the time. If only she wasn’t there. If only you adored every inch of my flesh as I adore yours. If only you loved me the way I love you. If only you felt envious and powerless like I do to you. If only.
I look over by accident and see him sitting all by himself. Last week when I made that mistake with him, he bragged about how many new friends he’s made. Like he was some fucking tree growing branches left and right, budding flowers and sweet fruit. Like he didn’t need me anymore and I was just there to be underneath him. I smile for his loneliness and look the other way.
He’s extending this invitation once- an olive branch, if you will, an offer of salvation that Joshua would be a fool for refusing- and only once. Joshua has messed up too much, done too many things against humanity in general, lost the spark he had upon first becoming Composer, and Sanae won’t be able to support him much longer if he doesn’t change something.
It’s been hopeless for so long, and even Joshua has wished, at times, that someone would come along and Erase him. Wished for change. Wished for anything other than what he has (funny how that comes back around). But what can he do about it? He may be Composer, but he can’t change people’s hearts. He can breathe life into Shibuya at his own expense, but he can’t save her people.
Sanae sees differently than he does. He sees new growth where Joshua sees rot, hopes for the future while Joshua despairs it. Sees creation where Joshua just wants to hasten destruction, rip the bandage off quickly to get it over with. He sees things that Joshua wants to be able to see again.
Joshua takes his hand. Sanae smiles, and Joshua looks away from the relief in his eyes- relief he knows he doesn’t deserve.
The branches of tress are the perfect demonstration of how life grows and develops its own way. Even though some things can interfere with how the branches grow, most of the times this is out of our control.
I tried this once before
branching out to find
the right line to take
failing to spot the lines
that took me away form
the start of this thing.
the last time
was fluid and now there is nothing
figuring out if there is a true way to falter
sounds flat like I’m trying to something out
that doesn’t need to make sense
The branch caught her russet hair as she lowered herself to the mossy bank, ….their voices
carried downriver and she couldn’t afford to let them catch her.
branching out you don’t know
if you will find the right way to get
from Nottingham to London
or if you will see the people
you dread seeing there
there are no right ways to get to the starting line
but if you don’t begin you’re all wrong from the outset
there are not true ways to falter
there is gibberish to come and gibberish to stop
I can branch out and be anything I like. I can be the writer, photographer, creative person that I long to be. There really is nothing stopping me from being all those things. Except the noose…that I hang around my neck each day. The noose that hangs from the branch on my tree of self-doubt, criticism, and regret.
She was sitting on top of the tree, legs hanging from one of the thick branches. She felt like a pirate, doing something illegal in this appletree in the frontyard of her parents house. Free and keen. She was a child.
I remember sitting on one with a huge cast on my arm at the age of 3. Why was I in that tree after suffering a traumatic injury such a shattering my poor little arm? There’s a picture too. Evidence of my fearlessness. Or my parents caring more about a funny photo opportunity. Either way.
Jacob sat on the creek bank patting out mud pies, with leftover ingredients evidenced across his face, t-shirt and cut-off blue jeans.”Mmm-mm, them are gonna be good.” proclaimed Rebecca as she swung herself from the lowest branch of the nearby birch tree, her tennis shoes peeling off flakes of the river tree’s bark. Jacob smiled as he anticipated the dessert they would never eat together.
A branch seems like a flimsy piece of wood, a stick with no purpose other than to poke people with or hand over to dogs to win their affections. But it’s so much more, for a branch is what keeps leaves on a tree. It helps make our world more colorful.
Elongated memories reach out and
touch forgotten hiccups
my brain unleashes its remains
and branches out to
infect
all that is lost
All we can do is keep breathing. Branch by branch we climb, ever higher, ever closer. What awaits us? A life to be lived, a goal to be reached. But that’s not the point, is it. The point is the breath. It’s not the summit, it’s the branch. The ground stretches below us, always in sight, but it has lost its importance. Sometimes one of us falls – loses sight of the branch and tumbles down, down, down. The point is the branch. We must always focus on the branch, and above all, keep breathing.
She slipped under the branches of the cherry blossom trees and gazed up into the pale pink blossoms against the black bark. They looked so delicate, so fragile. Just another week and they would be gone with the first wind or rain. Above, gray clouds were gathering, ready to drop rain.
The tree was swaying in the wind. Everything seemed to be standing still except the branches. You could hear them creak. You could hear them crack. It was mighty peaceful. Then before you know it a bird perched up upon the branch singing it’s lovely song.
Sun fell through the branches on her face. She sat in the sun, hoping it will soak her sadness away. She thought and thought until she just let herself be lost. The sun continued through the branches.
The branch from the tree was about to fall off. It hadn’t quite yet, but the weight from the weeks of snow and barley any sun were keeping it down. It must be like atlas who had such weight on his shoulders. But this tree had snow on it’s trunk.
“Too far out on the limb,” she thinks. “He’s going to fall…” But he doesn’t. Teetering on the end of the branch, he takes one more step, out into empty air, and stands there, motionless, nothing but the soles of his shoes and eleven feet of space between him and the rocky sand. “It’s all about believing,” he murmurs almost to himself, smiling a little. he takes another step, and another, swaying from side to side and placing his feet carefully, as though on a highwire. Further out he walks, and faster, until he seems almost to be dancing along an invisible line, drawn out from the end of the treebranch towards the gentle lapping of the grey ocean. He keeps spinning onwards, upwards now too, until he is so far out above the sea that she can’t bear it anymore. Tears begin to stream down her face. “Come back!” she shouts fruitlessly, hough she knows he can’t hear her. He’s too far away for her to reach now, and he’s lost all notion of anything but the air around him… as she knew he would.
i thought of you
and nothing came to mind
i tried to be something
and futility came to mind
the dirge, the same sands, the walking dead
crick crackled over the vast terrain
sometimes i felt out of touch
with your body
and the branches beneath
as the bones in your arms
got crushed.
A branch could be of a tree or a franchise. Tree branches vary in length – from thick to thin and they can also be sat on or climbed upon. Climbing a tree without branches would be very difficult. Also, there would be less injuries of children of children and adults alike falling out of trees.
Harold wanted to extend the olive branch to his wife, but she was unwilling to take it. Probably because it was quite literally an olive branch, and she had no use for it. Harold had never been one to understand figures of speech or metaphors, so when his therapist had encouraged the gesture, he had gone to great lengths to find a limb straight from an olive tree.
“I don’t even like olives,” his wife griped as she went back to her separate bed.
Harold would have to learn one way or another.
“I’m done; deal with it.” She screamed, turning and running toward the house. Tears mixed with the rain pelting her skin like razor blades. She heard the loud roar of thunder and crackle of the tree branch. She stopped and listened. Turning she ran toward him. “Hold on, I’m coming.”
Once you start to grow things happen. Whether you want them to or not. A product of this happening is branching. Essential to humanness and growth and knowing our eachother. Branching is what makes us whole.
It swings in the winds. Flowing, Catching on anything that is in the way. Know where to go and whats its purpose is. Knowing that one day it will die just like the rest and fall to the ground with its fallen brothers.
The lonely little catterpillar sat on the tree looking at the butterflies.
Those stupid butterflies,
With one touch dies,
And constantly compare themselves to others,
And need to be adored with their insufferable colours.
I’m happy being a little bit furry, he said. I get to live longer.
I hung on to the branch with determination. “Ebony” King shouted, “You need to let go! I promise I’ll catch you!” I looked down to where my eyes met the cliff edge. This was the riskiest thing I’d ever done, but I allowed my hands to slip off the tree branch, praying King would catch me…
I was hanging onto the branch for dear life. It was practically fifty feet from the ground. Oh shit! I thought inwardly. How the hell am I supposed to get down from here? It’s going to be impossible, then I wondered how I had gotten up there in the first place.
yo yo honey singh.. branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch vbranch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch branch
Trees have branches and so does government, I never can remember the three branches of government but im sure its like executive, judicial, and some other bullshit but tree branches have leaves
my branch is mechanical engineering. some other branches are computer engineering, electrical engineering, electronics and communication engineering and civil engineering and information technology.
She hoisted herself up onto the limb, her body seamlessly blending in with the branches and leaves in a way only accessible to one born of and into nature. I looked at her, awe surely etched onto my every feature, and watched with fascination as a blush worked it’s way across her cheeks.
“What?” she asked, her voice quiet, almost embarrassed, as she pushed a stubborn strand of ebony hair behind her ear.
“Nothing,” I said. “You’re just…you’re beautiful,”
I felt the branches of it looking at me.
there are several things i never understood one of htem was whyt he chestnut tree next t o mfather’s house grew to be so big as it did before we finally had to cut it down because its roots went under the foundation of the house and chafed into the side wall of the house, rendering it the brittle old construction that it really ways. as kids we bundled up the leaves and jumped into the heaps, collecting myriads of chestnuts.
Your words intervene mine, like branches, flawlessly surrounding each other with pretty leaves and blossoms and glorious things. I need you. That thought had ran through my mind all the time. If only she wasn’t there. If only you adored every inch of my flesh as I adore yours. If only you loved me the way I love you. If only you felt envious and powerless like I do to you. If only.
I look over by accident and see him sitting all by himself. Last week when I made that mistake with him, he bragged about how many new friends he’s made. Like he was some fucking tree growing branches left and right, budding flowers and sweet fruit. Like he didn’t need me anymore and I was just there to be underneath him. I smile for his loneliness and look the other way.
We’re through.
He’s extending this invitation once- an olive branch, if you will, an offer of salvation that Joshua would be a fool for refusing- and only once. Joshua has messed up too much, done too many things against humanity in general, lost the spark he had upon first becoming Composer, and Sanae won’t be able to support him much longer if he doesn’t change something.
It’s been hopeless for so long, and even Joshua has wished, at times, that someone would come along and Erase him. Wished for change. Wished for anything other than what he has (funny how that comes back around). But what can he do about it? He may be Composer, but he can’t change people’s hearts. He can breathe life into Shibuya at his own expense, but he can’t save her people.
Sanae sees differently than he does. He sees new growth where Joshua sees rot, hopes for the future while Joshua despairs it. Sees creation where Joshua just wants to hasten destruction, rip the bandage off quickly to get it over with. He sees things that Joshua wants to be able to see again.
Joshua takes his hand. Sanae smiles, and Joshua looks away from the relief in his eyes- relief he knows he doesn’t deserve.
The branch fell down in front of me on my relatively quiet walk through the park. It was startling and woke me from my reverie.
The branches of tress are the perfect demonstration of how life grows and develops its own way. Even though some things can interfere with how the branches grow, most of the times this is out of our control.
I a bird sitting on a branch, and then it flew away. There was a squirrel on the branch too, and it ran over and found it’s way onto a
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I tried this once before
branching out to find
the right line to take
failing to spot the lines
that took me away form
the start of this thing.
the last time
was fluid and now there is nothing
figuring out if there is a true way to falter
sounds flat like I’m trying to something out
that doesn’t need to make sense
factory, firm, job, work, sallary, factore, city, buisness, money, succes, future
The branch caught her russet hair as she lowered herself to the mossy bank, ….their voices
carried downriver and she couldn’t afford to let them catch her.
Inspired by “The Hunger Games”
branching out you don’t know
if you will find the right way to get
from Nottingham to London
or if you will see the people
you dread seeing there
there are no right ways to get to the starting line
but if you don’t begin you’re all wrong from the outset
there are not true ways to falter
there is gibberish to come and gibberish to stop
We held onto the branch like it was our last hope.
I can branch out and be anything I like. I can be the writer, photographer, creative person that I long to be. There really is nothing stopping me from being all those things. Except the noose…that I hang around my neck each day. The noose that hangs from the branch on my tree of self-doubt, criticism, and regret.
She was sitting on top of the tree, legs hanging from one of the thick branches. She felt like a pirate, doing something illegal in this appletree in the frontyard of her parents house. Free and keen. She was a child.
I remember sitting on one with a huge cast on my arm at the age of 3. Why was I in that tree after suffering a traumatic injury such a shattering my poor little arm? There’s a picture too. Evidence of my fearlessness. Or my parents caring more about a funny photo opportunity. Either way.
Jacob sat on the creek bank patting out mud pies, with leftover ingredients evidenced across his face, t-shirt and cut-off blue jeans.”Mmm-mm, them are gonna be good.” proclaimed Rebecca as she swung herself from the lowest branch of the nearby birch tree, her tennis shoes peeling off flakes of the river tree’s bark. Jacob smiled as he anticipated the dessert they would never eat together.
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