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Stina Feb 2018
Travelling alone, 

there’s not much that’s better.

Like engrained in your bones,

who knows it’s my only sweater?

But then comes a time,

like a broken fuse,

your mind a crime,

without a perpetrator to choose.

You feel restless and weak,

sad and incomplete.

Your decisions look bleak,

and there’s no comfortable seat.

These moments can be rough,
and you say there’s an answer.

But you catch your own bluff;

it’s a fast spreading cancer.

You must simply be quiet,

and listen to your senses.

Rid the stress - cry it,

and learn from it, like an apprentice.
Stina Oct 2017
There are days where the tree is full of roses,
Blooming in colour, right under our noses.

Everybody stops to admire its beauty,
Sweet and comforting like a hot cup of fruit tea.

As the days roll by the petals start falling,
One by one, you don’t realise the warning.

Deep in its winter, it’s no longer the same,
The tree is bare, was this caused by the rain?

Nobody stares and they just walk on by,
It is no longer radiant like a butterfly.

But the tree is still beautiful deep in its roots,
Just no longer wearing its birthday suite.

The tree stays calm and welcomes this time,
Just like we shut down at bedtime.

Before you loose faith and think it’s all over,
Stop for a moment and look a bit closer.

Slowly you’ll see the tree starts to green,
Day by day, like a non-stop machine.

Until again it shows off its wonder,
Teaching us to never be scared of the thunder.

— The End —