goon in love too soon to trust that's my inner dialogue, just a fire moving along gazing above wondering what watches over me as I repeat the mistakes set out forth for me generational trauma, nature works in cycles generational drama, focus on plastic idols daydreams in the white room unfaithful to the divine fruit
It was last year the day they embrace their love, all of them, it was then I declared my own. Seeds were sown, In the sun then her face shone, it was me alone who could see, the seeds growing into our sweet union's tree. But as fate would have it, it's their union's fruits that the tree bore, and it was almost as if an encounter with death deep inside my core, there was rebirth then, a man with the whole earth to his name as if, it is indeed land galore, to sow seeds until one day a tree grows just like it's seeds it's pure, bearing fruits it should've always bore.
Who am I? I am indigenous Purhēcha poetess butterfly. Monarch butterflies arrive at my homeland where bees make wild sweet honey bestest. Exotic Guamuchil fruits, chinese granadas; avocados grow too amazing livestock makes best meat. Michoacán’s tourist success owes its magic to butterflies and food. my indigenous people thrive in oxigen abundant land. My people's joyous mind state is contagious. Every year between the months of October and March, 20 million monarch butterflies migrate to my forest land Michoacán from all over North America, traveling up to 3,000 kilometers (1,864 miles) to spend the winter in my State's mountains.
Monarchs arrive, covering so many acres changing color to my forest land from jougle green to orange black, phenomenon that attracts tourists from world wide lands..
Butterflies visit Hello Poetry from many a lands too! Reading writing poetry to this poet's cyber home land where I donate in waives for in waives I breathe in-n-out
In waives poets read my stories and in waives butterflies come and go. ~~~~~~~~ By:Karijinbba Copy Rights apply /2020.
In waives life comes and goes in cycles reincarnate Monarch butterfly Michoacán fores land Mexico Purhēpecha
Hey future, I need you to listen to me, I yearn for splashes of colors for I have traces invisible I work for hands reliable for I need to have what it takes for the undescribable I try to get things all nice and glowy so please make them sliced yet flowy.
The sun blares upon me, as I gather my fruits from the tree of life. My body aches and perspires and I go on, picking them for my future. The gloom of this mundane, sets into my mind, as I toil in the heat. I yearn for the rain, to come and cleanse me of this toil and let me enjoy, the fruits.
we go about gathering things all our life yet don't feel satisfied.