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Contoured Sep 2017
In my garden,
I've planted a seed.
It took a while,
But eventually sprouted a tree.
I would sit underneath,
In the relief of shade.
It was the hottest summer,
The sun had ever made.
I pondered of things,
Untold and unseen.
The tree would support,
My back as I lean.
As the winter dawned,
Something happened.
I stopped visiting the tree,
And it gradually blackened.
The tree grew old,
I did too.
It was there many years,
But I visited it so few.
That very tree,
That had kept me cool.
Held on to its life,
Although life is cruel.
It held on for me,
And that I can't repay.
So I'll set it free,
I'll walk away.
The tree has many more years,
Than I.
I'll hold it back,
If there I lie.
Someone will come,
To take my place.
But until then,
That tree will hold an empty space.
Contoured Aug 2017
I hear the wind blow,
As it rustles the tree.
Carrying noises,
And various debris.
I open the shutters,
To embrace the wind,
But my thoughts go dark,
And my intellect thinned.
My ears hear whispers,
Intense and unkind.
All from the wind,
Through my open blind.

— The End —