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Pierce Llanden May 2014
You were the few leaves of Ivy
That over grew onto the building
And I the willing building

You were the small speck of rust that
over took my smallish metal frame
Crippling me from allowing anyone else inside
And I the willing frame

You were the mold
that spread against my walls
infecting me
Causing me to be ‘Closed For Good’
but I allowed the spread
never doing anything to halt
the damaging process

I never had anything to offer you
But you still took everything I had
And after I was completely encased in You
You moved on
To see what other damage You could cause
Sydney May 2014
As I dig into the soil
I feel more and more grounded
More and more connected
To reality
It's very calming
The sun beats on my back
The birds are chirping
Soil cracks under the shovel
I take a sip of ice cold water
I look into the clear blue
Sky
Life is beautiful today
With patient hands, and caring heart,

a mother's love was shown

in the tender, stubborn saplings,

she loved enough to grow.

She listened to their tearful woes,

she kissed their hurts away;

She offered up the best advice

and tried to show the way.

She taught them well,

and scolded when they failed;

She laughed with them and played with them

and watched them blaze a trail.

She let them fall, she let them choose,

she watched them from the dark;

for a mother's greatest heartache

is watching them depart.

If not for the strength of mothers,

if not for their watchful eyes

the saplings would have shriveled,

curled up,

and died.

So here is to the mothers.

the ones that try their best;

know that we saplings love you,

to this we can attest.
There is a loneliness in this world so great
that you can see it in the slow movement of
the hands of a clock.
people so tired
mutilated
either by love or no love.
people just are not good to each other
one on one.
the rich are not good to the rich
the poor are not good to the poor.
we are afraid.
our educational system tells us
that we can all be
big-*** winners.
it hasn't told us
about the gutters
or the suicides.
or the terror of one person
aching in one place
alone
untouched
unspoken to
watering a plant.

-Charles Bukowski
AavelinaJaden Apr 2014
There are petals in my lungs
I have roots instead of veins
Soaked in rainwater, dancing in the sunlight
I am beautifully photosynthesized
I've been writing about plants and trees a lot lately. I have springtime butterflies
LN Apr 2014
It's hard to water plants
you believe will die anyway.
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