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Does it make a sound?

I am tired

Closing eyes and forgetting the world seems small comfort yet I take it as it is, an escape from broken branches and a rotting stump. Branches that once reached for lofty heights, supple lengths filled with life and growth. Now dry, cracked. Brittle. Strewn about waiting for savage fires embrace as kindling, as this is the measure of their worth now realised

The stump that once connected roots deep and far reaching to their sky loving counterparts slowly decaying in the wake of moss, termite and age. Failing as all grand things must in their time, a pathetic remnant of strength once envied.

I am tired

What impossible destruction visited to once proud flora, what insidious reduction of life to ruin. I have grown, flourished and fallen to the elements. No water may quench the thirst of my despair, no sun rays may invigorate that which hastens to dark disrepair. The forest mourns but all are static and reach in vain to a fallen willow

I am tired

Spread my shrinking substance across the hungry undergrowth, let all within my radius take sustenance from my meager offerings. This is my final gift, a far cry from hearth and home that offered sanctuary and shade but it is what I have left to imbue.

Sleep comes swift and the leaves are of sienna hue, there is naught I can do to resist the approaching Fall. Perhaps in time the acorn may take hold and what I once was might reclaim towering observance, but earthen nurseries are sparse. Creeper vines thick. The weather unforgiving.

And I am so very tired…

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Death

Seasons flash by in giddy haste

Minutes coalesce into years and the grave awaits

But patience is its bedfellow

For an end comes to all and certainty is laughing

What tears may fall for wasted fervor

What hands may wring for that which passed by

I died today as sure as I will some time hereafter

And it crumpled my strength as a paper crane under peak hour haste

Funny thing dying, the emptiness at its core holds peace

Yet it is a quiet fear, calming and cold

If this is true deaths substance

Let it come.

It can bear me no greater sorrow than

Life as it unfolds in my hands this day

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plucking pages

A crow on my shoulder
I walk the road, slip-

pages penned are loosed
to find their own way, there

is a dearth of knights and chivalry
a lack of courtesy too, no

things truly valuable, lost
money is god and cure all, need

I walk the road thus -pages
penned a bald crow, shivering

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Act of contrition

- sacrifice -
I, of fearful courage
of cowardliness conditioned
to martyrdom before guilt, 
am the long fused implosion, lit
- snip -

Bless me Father for I have sinned..

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Stealing brass

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Deep blue ocean eyes

She unknowingly carried herself like she was special, and she was 

If everyone were to've been a star, she would have been the sun.

Ships are fallible, like one, I sunk into her deep blue ocean eyes. 

Her beauty. Will ultimately. Be. My. Demise 

I hope to drown in her deep blue ocean eyes, I won't mind. 

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No tiki

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Water finds a way and so do rodents

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For now

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Kintsukuroi

I rode the train back home that day 
I reached home as a whole 
But I swear to you - 
I was ripped to pieces.

That if i stood still long enough 
I’m convinced a stranger would 
trace the cracks in my pores 
with their eyes.

I once heard that the Japanese 
aggrandize the damage 
of broken things
Simply by filling their cracks 
with gold

For, whatever withstands 
destruction 
and 
history, 
becomes 
more beautiful.

And if this is the case, 
then you were 
the 
most 
beautiful.

Perhaps too beautiful 
for too long, 
far too long,
and i’m sorry

I’m sorry.