Mirror, proves the past
pleasure, of seed in the grass
Lonely, roots can't grasp.
I shouldn't write much poetry like that because it's not clear. Not like my first works had been.
The last two were about how draining it is to love and be strong using nature. I don't exactly like the wording of how they end.
Just a few notes to myself.
Thicker than water, more nurturing.
Warm, white, clear.
Some of the deepest sympathy.
Playing a game of hide and go seek.
She was soft, with a painted frame.
In a field of flowers, it's the weeds that drain you.
The bugs that siphon.
A rose, wild in the bush.
Taking great care in what you love, it's a change and sign of respect for themselves. For the best without the stress, within the darkest storm.
The heartbeat of feeling, sense of cleaning.
Pulsating blood rush in a faint meaning.
She hides behind black silk, suffocation from the light. Not to be seen, poker face with a deck of cards. The hands to reach out, denied, no sharing. Suffering is for the weak doth protest her. One bird of flight in the death yards. It's meant for you, and so acceptance began in a new world.
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