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CK Baker Feb 2017
late night by the holland sill
white framed and frilled
alongside the meadow
down by the grand
where cat fish
and cow pies
and silly yellow bees
make their stay

there are swings now
and an empty barn
(with quiet corners
and broken walls)
echoing chambers
that speak to the past
...and little dogs
not big ones

the plaster cracks
and wheat sways
from a warm west wind
it’s about time
for that late afternoon pour
you know how it cleans the soul
old percy would say

and flanders
the holder of those pigs
who fed us good
with sow and milk
as we plowed the
dusty fields
into the
hot summer sun

i can still hear the screams
of river dreams
the grand slams
and flints run dry
the barks
and breaks
and bends
a world past
with forbes
and dolls
and crab apple trees

think i’ll take a trip
up the back lane

they’ve cut the brush
and opened the line
Nyx Dec 2018
When emotions well up
Annoyance and anger hits me
Recentment burns
Yearning to be set free

And reluctantly I let it
Slowly seep its way through the cracks
Waiting for the perfect moment
Where it can launch its final attack

Silently it brews
Subtly it shows it way
Be attentive and pick it up
As then we can begin our play

Where we act so innocent
Oblivious to what surrounds
Hands over our eyes
Refusing to make a sound

Let's see what you can do
Tho your actions won't go unanswered
In the end you'll reap what you sow
But until then nobody has to know

Except for me my dear

When the flames around you roar
And you scream out to the sky
There will be nobody left around
Who will listen to your cries

Its funny how things change people
Into beings they use to resent
And when their time comes
Its their turn to repent

And you hear the little whispers
Amongst the friends that you hold dear
No longer knowing the reason
They refused to keep you near

You never could see it though
You were always searching for more
Taking for granted everything you had
There is nobody left to adore

I hold no sympathy
As this was your doing

You reap what you sow


-
English Jam Jun 2018
The air is perfumed with fresh rosemary's
And the wild springs with lush berries
Their presence colours the nursery with a sweet loom
It bleeds into the forecast for tomorrow's gloom
Nostalgia hits hard, heartbreaking and eerie
For a day when I wasn't paranoid and weary
Well, I'll be down by the Brighton pier
Watching birds float past in lonely fear
I'd love to turn away

The pristine sun shines like Hades
The outside scent is yellow, maybe
Little daises laugh in the foreground
Gardens sow a loving sound
Once I could see hope in the trees
And the love that whispered on the breeze
Now the trees foreshadow longing
And the gale howls with wronging
I'd love to turn away

The intimacy in my yellow tinted flowers seems to have faded
And the soft orchards have been invaded
My words burnt in a smouldering pile of dust
And steaming with the heat of my lust
I told a crowd I had something to say
But the people turned away
away
away...
Sara Kellie May 2018
Kiss my bloodied lips before you go.
Remember darling, you reap what you sow.
I gave you that warning a few years ago.
So what's coming to you, you already know.
Now close your eyes and hold on tight.
I'll make it quick when I put out your light.
When you are gone, I might shed some tears.
Remembering back, we had some good years.
You chose a new ally, you made a mistake.
It won't take you long to realise he's fake.

Poetry by Kaydee
The bloodier the poem the better the therapy and yes, she's still alive.
In fact, the poem titled 'Natalie' is about her. We are also still married!
You see, therapy through poetry really works.
Written in 2012.
Noel Oct 2013
The Circle of the Mushroom Ring:
Apocalyptic Sanctification

Feasting I wonder when the crumble will begin?
Alas we wait with our circle like friend.
Darkness entwined the vines where I sit
This shall be a night we gnomes won't forget.

History, mystery they all fall down
The human like creatures know nothing in town
for when we feast from this beautiful ring
all us gnomes will dance and sing.

Singing of terror in shadows they fall
creeping through forests watching them all.
I feel the time it grows too near
my senses feel nothing but their unwelcome fear.
Burn...

Fire to fire and dust to dust
Burn the village with pleasant disgust
Reap what you sow and scream what you plead
Ashes they fall, ashes they bleed.

Our minds are tuned with the ring of fate
We are the gods we create.
A mindless journey to tame the souls
to fill our empty heart-seeking holes.

Chanting and dancing we cheer through the streets
the wind of fire such a beautiful beat.
The cries of the children echo in flame
as I mock there howls with laughter of pain.

Steady I walk designing it all
Flooded by voices of the gnomes violent call.
Releasing the rage, spear-stick in my hand
right through the head, bold where I stand.

The village simmers but we do not
Tearing apart what we feel should rot.
The ground is no place for the blood of men
ashes to ashes amen to amend
The cravings wont stop, or my eyes will bleed.
for the fate of mankind is the mushroom ring.

-Do not forgive us for we have not sinned
We bless mother earth through our beautiful wind.-
Nat Lipstadt Apr 2017
A message heart delivered by a musing troubadour
left footprints upon a well weathered rivers’ rocky shoal

the lazy days of the summer’s simmering
ethereal breezes lazily waft astir

Unknown distance ‘tween yonder skies azure;
thoughts of nebulous distances fearlessly ignored to be sure,
connectedness sown and deference’s soar from high above,
yet beyond vast breadth afar the great divide

His brimful heart in hand fulfills passersby thirst

needing love here, hearts on sleeves sincere,
wellspring sensibilities handed out willingly here
voids filled by word of quill …
right now is the known needed time

Glasses half empty suffused to their half full brims;
do unto others you will reap just what ye sow,
a poet beyond the bounds of his own demure,
bearing immense understanding

The quintessential essence of family love
drips from heart like heavens rain,
testifies the heart's purpose for being

A poet’s voice speaks in soul’s timeless tongues
unknown breaths from another understanding realm
too deep for words;
yet the word sayer struggles to see his forest ‘s poetic beauty
for to see beyond the pendant beauty
within its magnificent grandeur
of his own gifted heart’s nurtured trees.

~

The Twist

This poem was not written by me.
It was written almost four years ago,
lying fallow in some passing cloud.

Writ for me by someone effervescently more talented than I,
and one of the poets whose quality of work, and command of our shared language is something to which all of us should aspire.

I post it now as yet another homage to the true author.

For in reading it, never was a poem was far more clearly,
an unwitting self-portrait.

It was written on August 21st, 2013
by Harlon Rivers


by Nat Lipstadt
one of us, his tongue Moses-stung, with a hot coal of language's divinity
~
this would-be poet,
weighty troubled by misdirected words
of a musing troubadour,
for if ever a reflecting pool ought be
a two-way mirror reconfigured,
this poem is deservedly reversed
and of him homaged

by time, well weathered the poem above,
it's simple elegance tips and tilts the scales,
double blinding the justices supremely,
binding them for honesty for the subject,
is the auteur, one who sees too well
and yet l!
cannot perceive himself in his own words,
when now needs the judgement of their verdict
and your worthy recognition

now I ken better distance 'tween artist and art,
I, a workingman's daily dallying in simplistic machine craft,
my works deservedly lost in the waterfalling
of the endless also rans

non-nebulous distances.between skies of
Oregon country blue
and
the worldy worn asphalt grayed words of a graying man aging,
then let clarity speak, in plainest harmony,
know my deference’s soars to the high above,
one of us at birth, god gifted,
not I,
one of us, his tongue, like Moses-stung
with a hot coal of language's divinity

blessings, the keenest of nature,
where they divide and how they intersect
his brimful heart in our eyes fulfills the passerby's thirst
for revelations, small shards of shared sensibilities

my voids filled by the words of his quill

"to see his forest ‘s poetic beauty
for to see beyond the pendant beauty
within its magnificent grandeur
of his own gifted heart’s nurtured trees"

This was written April 15, 2017
for Harlon Rivers
by Nat Lipstadt

behind the poems,  travels another world…
Josiah Israel Jan 2017
by— Josiah Israel

Twas oft the way in days of old,
When knight would battle brave and bold,
The damsels hand in hopes to hold,
Worth more then polished Stone, or Gold
For this is what a boy is told
When day is done and night is cold…

“One day my son, thy chance will come
Though courage oft may waver,
When lady waits, through sable gates
For thee brave lad, to save her!”

For when a dragon stole a maid,
Awaiting ransom duly paid,
Twas bravest knight, armor arrayed  
With noble steed and burnished blade
Rode swiftly to the damsels aid…

“You have not birth of high degree
Yet be thou brave and fight,
For low in rank thy birth may be
Yet heart makes noble knight!”

And after facing beast and foe
The knight with maiden free would go
Away to fields in need of ***
For seeds ere winter need to grow
And none can reap who do not sow…

“Not all you do will win a prize
Of gold or silver bent,
So reap a harvest good in size
And be thee well content.”

And when the battle horn he hears
The knight must banish all his fears
And ride to war, with battle cheers
On maidens cheek alight her tears
Fearing death, she spends the years…

“To win renown in battle
Might also be your path,
May your enemies armor rattle
As they feel your righteous wrath!”

But after kings campaign is done
The knight to home will swiftly run
From dusk through night to rising sun
Till maiden sees her hero come
Heart moving swift, a beating drum
Yes she the prize which first he won!

“Home is best at warring's end
To be with those you cherish,
A place to rest, your wounds to mend
Where love will never perish”

Though all the kingdom knows his name
And minstrels spread the brave knights fame
His love for she, remains the same
And they live happily, Knight and Dame…
I love the medieval Ballad kind of poem. Alfred Lord Tennyson was my inspiration for this style :D
Isabel Aghahowa Oct 2018
i look at you
you look up and away
you're ready to flee
from this deserted place
sow your seeds, grow your roots
somewhere else

i inhale the dust
circle the discoloured wood
the bitter taste of your drifting eyes
made the living room floor even colder than usual
as the air grew thin and sharp

i know it's real, your face is here
but it breathes
along with the tress
on the outside
separate from me
bulletcookie May 13
these spent hands still toil
digging in this drawn soil
watching a worm stretch
and pull, stretch and pull
soon dusk will slip in
moving with grains of sand
casting small shadow bands
over this garden tended
and overgrown with love
this bush rose red bloom
holding a waiting perfume

-cec
Lyn Senz Nov 2013
Dripping wet emotions
with defensive underwear
tripping ghetto potions
an expensive teddybear

you're a wordy birdy whiddler
of some truth I wouldn't know
and I'm a hurdy gurdy fiddler
of some sooth I shouldn't show

you alight a quiet yearning
you aflame my frozen soul
feels so right the night so burning
but I don't claim my chosen goal

in the blissless listless morning
I begin again to go
you're a kissless mistress scorning
any kin my sin will sow

and the end my friend is calling
my life petty all alone
will she tend and end my falling
or be a pretty little stone


©2012 Lyn
CK Baker Jan 2017
they stained the back deck today (with a hard to match 7 periwinkle)
400 square feet of knotted pine (in a striking rivet sequence)
red ant drivers (who can forget those little ******)
caked fir needles & feather cone
bug hologram & cedar moss
graffiti crack & cut joist
wheel rut & pick
pike stain (s)
sow bugs
electric
blower
purple
fueled
washer
missing
foul bits
and two of
its former pins
somewhere near
the erratic 9th stroke the
side kick (and his sloppy dullard)
fell sadly in a cacophony of sick laughter
anxious peckers, poinsettias, grub box, rail stems
lacewings (womanlike in their task), third door down windows
old ergonomic chairs (so highly touted in the checkout isle at Lowes)
all for not, I guess ~ seems they never reviewed the Homestead Manual on Fine
Deck Painting
Livaille Oct 2017
flowing river, crashing rain
together troubles sow,
       yet do not mend.

a silent sorrow,
sullens sour solitude.

light mist envelopes autumn,
west wind waves the water,

wind follows blade,
blade follows rain,
rain follows clouds.

soundless slashes scatter clouds,
blossoms fall on flowing water.

memory of spring dazes gaze,
alters flow as whirlwind dashes,

summer's sunlight sets,
dual waltz of lotus leaves,
in memory of cherry blossoms.

blurred shadow forms a phantom,
menacing mist chases hurtling haze,
snow sinks deeper than a dream of snowy winds.
A cradle of scythes lay in a chariot.

You reap what you sow, I grow plans.
Plant them in my mind, let them expand.
Watered with thought,
Spruced with consequence,
Implanted quietly, with utter nonchalance.
Meanwhile, in society
I digress entirely.

Later when fruition has come to bear,
A portion of the harvest will have been ensnared.
The scythe has a name: Benefit Of The Doubt.
Don't fear the reaper,
Fear without.
Opportunity, patiently.
Natalie Apr 2018
Eve
On the edge of my windowsill, I sit
And count the little black and bustling heads
Clustered down below.
There is Life

In the pinnacles of the trees I tower over.
I feel It, breathing coolly down my neck.
I am soon to be reborn,
My countenance now aglow.

This is my precipice.
I will soar down from my mountaintop
Bearing word of reclamation.
I will sow my bones like seeds upon the wind.
Hirondelle Jan 19
I could pull out a nail,
had it been hammered
                     to make me wail.

I would pluck out an arrow
shot by love to sow sorrow.

I would even shed no tear
if stabbed with a spiteful spear.

But...

That ***** driven deep
'midst many a day’s heedless leap
had me short wallow and weep
in artful time's endless keep.

It spun and bit smaller than grit,
slower than a nit yet surer than seed.
Much more than greed sown to sneak.
Direr than deed, milder than mead.

Now on my knees, ******* in need,
By thine eyes smitten indeed.

©️Hirondelle (19/01/2019)
That young boy in Hirondelle is musing again to make you smile with the juvenile voice in the last couplet if not all across the poem! :)

I’ll come back with a more literary one very soon. :)

I won’t hide it... This playful mood came over me after I had been through a very long and relentlessly crushing working period.... Was looking for a catharsis, perhaps.

‘*******’ is for people who would prefer to indulge -but not wallow- in their woeful infatuations just to draw the thick sap of love from its pain and reversely concoct an elixir of joy.

Yes, joy in woe... A nimble mind and a strong heart relish that recipe. Masochism? Nooo... the heart and the mind abhor that... Let's leave it for want of another name and only enjoy the pleasure of being *******. :)
Hirondelle Jan 20
TAKE   each ~ cordial ~ smeared ~ sunset

                                f o r ~ t h e  ~ r e m i n d e r

                of that bottle you failed to reach
        beyond the words you feared to breach
which made your dreams begin to leach!


TAKE   the ~ westernmost ~ fiery ~ petals

                                f o r ~ t h e ~ m e m e n t o s

                 of the colors hidd’n in your way
        ‘midst the fax strewn mane of the day
you could have seized to ride and yay!


TAKE   the ~ seagull’s ~ scarlet ~ bound ~ flight

                                f o r ~ t h e ~ d u e ~ a d i e u

                to the gifts gone by o’er your head
        to burn red on an ocean’s end:
a wasteland aft a sheen shod friend!


TAKE   the ~ nightingale’s ~ late ~ light ~ lyric

                             ­   f o r ~ t h e ~ a d a g i o ~ r i d d l e

                adrift in a windy day’s whirl
        like a shy rhyme on a vain girl,
whose glib lips you fear to uncurl!


TAKE   each ~ honey ~ dipped ~ sunset

                                f o r ~ t h e ~ t e s t a m e n t

                to all the tastes you failed to reach
        like a child on her mother’s leash,
scowling over a pallid dish!

                           ~~~ AND ~~~
          Rise to a palette smeared daybreak
             to splash all colors wide awake,
  the squirrelled seeds from the night’s stake.
         
         Shall thee these hues in husky hints
           sow in grins and sprout in glints
                on a lucent mural of tints?

©️Hirondelle (20/01/2019)
How old are we?
Does it matter much when it comes to seeking our share from life?
Don’t we like color, taste and fun?
Isn’t cordial both colorful and sweet? And wasn’t it fun to snitch it despite our disallowing parents with all the risk involved?
If in essence, the three -color, taste and fun- are what we look for regardless of our age, then, aren’t we still the same child precariously reaching over to the delectable cordial bottle on an amlost elusive shelf. She is standing tiptoe on a chair for leverage and groping with her anxious, timid hands for the bottle. Stakes are high; her mother who said “No!”may chance in, she may tip the bottle on the floor to create an oozy, sticky trouble with taste filmed shards, or she may alltogether fall off that precarious chair! Ouch!
The sweeter the bottle, the bigger the risks we all take, and the louder the war drum beating in our cage; all the same, the bigger the joy of triumph and louder its horn.
Now, I have grown, but there has always been a cordial bottle I have tried to reach out. Now, it’s meaning in life that I seek, and so desperately at that; not some pathetic glucose derived culinary product anymore. However, it is still in the same place; on a towering shelf in a bottle! And each time, I take risks big or small. I deliberate...

Have I ever fallen?
Tell me about it!
Mark Edwards Jr Apr 2013
I wield this mighty shield
So strong and yet so proud
To silence halt and yield
This evil angry sound

Righteous, narrow, straight
This path I strive to walk
Shifting the mighty weight
For each and every block

Tenacious is this anger
My stance begins to fall
My shield becomes a danger
I heed the Spartan's call

My stance has shifted slightly
The anger has been unleashed
The shield that once was mighty
Shall make my loved ones weep

Though I regret this greatly
They may never know
For all they say so plainly is,
"What you reap is what you sow"

*04/09/2009

Edit: 10/01/2018
Nico Julleza Jul 2017
∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙
A little bit of summer
a little bit of breeze
in the days of warmer
love has so much-
to bring, come let us sing

A little bit of freesia
a little bit of lilac
never can resist a scent
-of Ms. Narine
Ogles, a morning scene

A little bit of sunshine
a little bit of eventide
caress upon the shores
-of such imagery,
passions of immortality

A little bit of cosmos
a little bit of crocus
in a glebe-like galaxy
stars white as daphne
from a garden of syzygy

A little bit of cerulean
a little bit of vermilion
shimmers the lucid lake
with trout's and doves
Golly! autumn is awake

A little bit of plowing
a little bit of sow
the hard workers of
-those pumpkins
reaps a stewful of zin

A little bit of snow
a little bit of flail
fly away as butterflies
hibernate as snails
Forging! a winters gale

A little bit of details
a little bit of trail
from dew drops of-
a frozen rose, icicles on
a drowsy bear’s nose

A little bit of sleeping
a little bit of wait
till the sun comes up  
gray clouds strew away
spring is here to stay

A little bit of sprout
a little bit of grow
And can it be, on thee
an Epiphany shows
the Lords glorious prose
#sing #flowers #seasons #nature #God #colors

Thank-you soo much for all the great poet who red, liked, and commented on this poem.

Don't you just sigh when Seasons Sing...?

(NCJ)POETRYProductions. ©2017
Restrain me, detain me,
corrupting thy mind has changed thee.
Radical thoughts of dimensional existence,
is turning on lights to a further persistence.
What you see is what I show, walls come down when I finally know.
What we reap is what we sow.
Do you doubt these words that flow?
Read my eyes to hear my mind, Ignorance will lead you blind, so lend an ear and hear my secret.
I create how I perceive it, take my hand and feel this power.
Energy's our vital tower
Cleansing souls like a blissful shower, as we depict what we choose to devour.
I'm starting to realize the struggle is real and that is the reality of how I must feel.
The best montage that sets me free, unlocking answers I hold the key.
You are someone just like me living life vicariously!
A Sin! A Sin! Yet one i shall keep!
For whatever we sow,
Together we reap!
bythesea Jun 2018
i built you;
i melted your butter,
wore your hair for you,
turned your eyes forward
so you might see the goodness too

i held you
when you thought your
world was leaving.

and when you needed me,
i built you.


but now you make what i made
for you.
i showed you how to sow your dreams
how to hide them under your jacket
until you were ready.
i held you for so long
until i felt myself collapsing.




i remember my favourite day well:
i wasn't with you.
and while you were praising those below you
i was floating on the water
On acres of  the dawn
I sow sun as seed
And the moon's face dark!

Then comes the night armada,
I sow my labour to the day, forced
To pay wages to the dark!

The day comes in whirlwind
Flaming coals to the eyes sore
I sow my unborn feet burnt!

A trip of irony running,
Carvorting in ectasy moon
In eerie season of unknown!
D L Smith Nov 2016
Sobbing and breathing is all I have left.

Though I have oxygen it still feels like she took my last breath.

Theres no greater pain than my heart shattered on the floor.

Broken and bleeding, begging for no more.

I walk through the house with these tears in my eyes.

The person who left me I hope that she cries.

The pain of today will go on for more to come.

This world has darkened a bit more for now I am numb.

I look in the mirror and I only see half of myself.

The other half left me inside of this house.

I begged her not, I'd let her be free but what have I left when it's only just me?

So as I pick up the pieces of my shattered dreams.

I'll slowly sow back together all of my seams.

Maybe one day I'll be complete and all of this will be no more.

But for now and tomorrow my heart sobs on the floor.

D. L. Smith 11/12/2016
ConnectHook Sep 2015
[Infernal Dialectic of Ongoing Struggle]

Spoke Mao Zedong to Kim Jong Ill:
We languish here in deep red hell –
Let us confer and analyze
What factors revolutionize
The contradictions still.


Replied Lil’ Kim: The running dogs
Beguiled by class and capital
Have overdrawn and overspent.
They bank on debt, and make lament
And flounder in their fogs…


Kim chee does stink, but tastes so good
Do have some more, oh comrade Mao.
Fermented cabbage goes so well
With Hennessey and blondes (in hell)
when
Juche’s in da hood!

The Fearless Leader (now a shade)
Responded thus: Just give them time.
Our doctrines spread, their God is dead
Their sons shall sing ‘The East is Red’
Our party’s got it made.


Ill Kim displayed a wicked grin:
Our rocket-launches make them fear
They scold and cluck, and then they duck
While Hillary tries to pass the buck
I think we still could win…


The Chairman thought and sipped some fire
in communistic reverie, and feeling very clever, he
Replied to Ill: This place we’ll fill
with dead reactionaries still –
fifth columns to inspire.

Now let the thousand flowers bloom
And let one thousand thoughts contend.
Remember **? Remember ‘Nam?
We triumphed over Uncle Sam –
He’s limping toward his doom.


A wizened ghost now drifted in
Because his name had been proclaimed
A wispy beard (as yet unseared)
Revealed the mastermind once feared:
Old Uncle ** Chi Minh !

** ** – old friend! Draw near! Draw near,
Spoke Mao: In solidarity
We hail your work upon the earth
You showed them what a war is worth
You’re always welcome here.


Ill Kim and I were wondering
How best to make the forward leap –
conspiring ******* their cow
and smoke their duck and drain their sow
while they are buying bling.

** Chi, old warrior, why the frown?
Upon your wisdom now we wait.
The forces red you bravely led
You staked your claim until they bled
And brought their nation down.


Old uncle **, the sage revered,
did smolder with his cigarette.
Viet Cong thought is hard to grasp
It slithers like a jungle asp…
** paused and stroked his beard:

You speak without the people’s light!
I criticize in strongest terms
Your revolutionary thought.
We need to ask our friend Pol ***
How best to steer this fight.

Such gradual change, a halfway measure
stalls the Bourgeoisie’s demise.
Our true Khmer Rouge was not a stooge
of Kapital. His fame was huge
for plundering their treasure.

True, he had to purge his nation
such is revolution, gents…
The traitor classes see the masses,
through reactionary  glasses.
Death or re-education!

We ought to sow his rural seed
for pure agrarian reform.
The bodies in the rice can rot
to fertilize the harvest plot –
the people’s mouths to feed.


When Pol *** heard his tactics lauded
he flew in to join the jabber:
Take a tip from Kampuchea!
Listen well and I will teach ya!

Kim and Mao applauded.

City folk are useless eaters
glasses-wearing foes and cheaters!
let them slave – and always save
their corpses for the fertile grave
Until they love their leaders.

From the barrel power grows –
(I don’t mean kim chee barrel, boys – )
Now learn my way.We’ll have our say
Their weakened states will wither away.

The Red dictator rose.

Prepared to ramble on for hours
(the way Fidel so loves to do)
Pol ***’s harangue now fired the gang
like rockets falling on Da Nang
emitting sparks in showers.

Hell is known for lack of stasis –
Sudden throes of quaking fire;
fitful flares from from Satan’s lairs
and constant similar affairs
the population faces…

Thus Saint Pol ***, still naming names
along with Mao and Kim-Jong Il
while ** Chi screamed, and then blasphemed
were swept en masse, and unredeemed
into the surging flames.

Yet still they plotted in the blaze
with dialectic deviousness.
Philosophizing, strategizing
stinking sulphur brimstone rising;
ghosts in the yellow haze…

        ☭ END ☭
http://tinyurl.com/q6uyx34

soft sun Aug 2018
i spent the season planting seeds
take time to breath
it all happens so fast

my hands are rough
from the branches, sticks and lifting
hardly enough space
to remember i was missing you

the boxes packed and ready to be sold
the air felt colder
i cut off all my hair
to feel the wind on my shoulders
there was no more hiding
who could i come clean to now?

we all have our seasons
we all have our seasons
you, me, the cosmos in between
we all have our seasons
we all have our seasons
harvesting is just one of them

lonely, i am not alone
just trying to get used to the solo home of bones
let me be this hollow shell
to fill and let go
to hold a place inside to grow
A human having a souls experience

i stopped looking and i found
i stopped thinking and listened to the sound
of the room without walls
it was quiet and sweet
to sow and to reap
remember to take time to breath
it all happens so fast
divine timing: i am happier now, but miss your sweet energy. do you miss me too?
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