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Commuter Poet Feb 2020
Trees like fireworks
Burst through the February morning air

Bare branches explode
In wild and wonderful patterns
Decorating landscapes
Hugging the earth

No two are the same

Instead they describe
Their own unique pathway
From earth to sky
Sky to earth

Holding their lives mysteriously
Each alchemises sunlight and air
Into physical matter
More miraculous
Than any human endeavour

Trees transform
The most barren terrain
Into thriving communities
Of life

We are greater for them
Weaker when they are gone
5th Feb 2020
Xiola Nov 18
If I stay a nervous bud
my full bloom will not encroach upon the grandeur of another
& I will invite no retribution
Though the artist in me knows
that a whole field in bloom
Pollinates the world.
Bloom with the artists.

If I stay silent
my words cannot be smithed into a weapon of censure,
and be used to cut me into smaller pieces.
Though the poet takes my words
& alchemises them
into an elixir for healing.
Speak with the poets.

If I smother my fire
I inspire no ire from neighbouring Suns
for whom my shine is a punishable theft of thunder.
Though a sister moon mirrors my light and illuminates the next.
Shine regardless.

If I stay in my armour
my vulnerability cannot become the missile launched at me
by the traitor who begged for my truth
Though an ally reveres my courage
and meets it with the honour of their own open heart.
Open, even though.

— The End —