September 25, 2013

The best kind of things
Are the ones that don’t
Make sense until you see
The ins and outs of what
Goes on inside.

Open me up,
Create a cross section
Of this flesh and bone,
And count the rings:
One, two, three.
There are wonders in
This world that one
Can only find beneath
The layers of time.

Muted shades of
Autumnal leaves float
In blustery breezes,
Striking my face with a
Surprising force. The sun
May penetrate the thin
Layer of grey clouds
Drifting above me, but
It can never pierce the
Bark on my trunk.

My heartwood stirs at
The sound of your voice.



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