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Post by Bobby Slais on Jul 27, 2007 5:44:12 GMT -5
We slowly scamper away unnoticed into the forest but inside, we are like a pair of startled deer fleeing after the wood echoing of trampled brush resounds.
Circling back into the dense, we untangle the seasons passed, searching for one last harvest before the bramble is uncolored by winter. The callous skin we earned by surviving the daily storm of modern life
protects us now during our escape as we bed down raw upon the twig and moss covered undergrowth. A jab of needle or stick only heightens our ability to feel.
The debris of summer ruins through our veins as we fall into each other eager to gather the remaining acorns or nuts clinging to the branches.
As if starving, we shake the tree fiercely until the fruit pounds upon our senses releasing the hunger built up inside.
Noise and chaos leave the wood, we are married to the earth again. I have planted my seed and you will nurture it knowing we can grow together again in any season.
Bobby 2oo7
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Post by Bernard Alain on Jul 27, 2007 10:46:14 GMT -5
I can tell you are in the 'zone' bobby, you are writing some great poetry in the forum in the past day or so, right now I haven't gpt a poetic thought in my head ... I am all jammed up lol so good to see someone on a sprint ... like this, I have seen this form before, it works quite well here.
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