I haven’t written poetry in a long while, but every once in a blue moon I feel the need. It’s like a tightly wound knot of emotion sitting in my chest, that only a poem can relieve. So here it is. Short and simple.
How do you know when something has died?
A root from the earth,
and stars in her eyes.
By the moon’s glowing light,
she walks the streets at night.
How do you know when something is alive?
Youth is a tree that stands in the field,
Beautiful skin covers knees that kneel,
She gets the fix so she doesn’t have to feel
How do you know when something is real?
Amazing. Thank you!
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thank you! 🙂
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