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Grey 7h
As sleep overcomes me,
my unsteady hands loosen their grip on the locket
and it slides through my fingers
and falls to the ground.
Maja May 19
People don't know when the crack in the ground starts.
They only know when it breaks and they fall.
Maria Mitea May 17
the blanket hugs Earth's chest, and
steps move holding a bouquet of sunflowers while
gazing like a thief, whose big eyes are
rolling on the ground, “don’t you see how steps flow with
Parisian prudence, I am brave and happy on top of Your Eiffel.”  When?  the eyes become wizards of clouds, and
“I”- Rest in wonder. How Long?
Maria Mitea May 11
and childish
who cares? as
long as
the golden
still rolls on the ground
how? steps enter my voice
and heart murmur
in quiet
It may not be in the deepest soil
Where light and water abound
Yet each tiny seed will strive and toil
To grow in their given ground

Some seeds are sown by loving hands
All buried quite snug and sound
While others fall in rock strewn lands
To claim as their given ground

We hear no cries of pain or delight
As each seed’s place is found
For each one feels their spot is right
To thrive in their given ground

Express your life with joy and might
And may your efforts be crowned
Whether your soil be deep or slight
Grow well in your given ground
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What spot of ground were you given in this life? Was it deep nourishing soil, with lots of love from a gardener? Or do you feel you were tossed into scant rocky soil and somehow expected to thrive there? This poem expands on that idea, and is a personal poem for my wife and me.

It stems from a scriptural story about olive trees and a Lord of the Vineyard who transplants different shoots and branches into various spots of the vineyard. Some are planted in good spots, and others in poor spots, but the Lord of the Vineyard has a plan.
The Foody One Apr 20
falling from the World
falling from a tree -

on the ground,
But still
on my feet.
© 29/06/18
I miss you in ways I'm still learning to articulate
like maybe the sea misses it's purity
or your sweater misses the way my shoulders held it
the grass misses the sun's light when night falls
and in the same way the dirt on the ground wonders if it will ever feel warmth again
I miss you as though you're never coming back
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