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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Religion and Spirituality  |  House: Phoenix Poetry

Submitted: January 29, 2017

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Submitted: January 29, 2017



Here I am! Swinging, or breathing,

On a branch that is pink or grey

For the lemons were too sweet

And I have bitterness left to taste:

Ah! The wanting itself, 

And the mind that sees it as a gem

And the other which resists the gem to be what 

May be wanted by the need, itself, it should be respected

What are you? You’re light, and I try and be honest

But I forget with a lie and try to describe you 

For a reason to be picked- it is to be picked!

When was the title thought?

The seed planted resists——-

A wildfire to be spoken upon, here, here 

But it burns too greatly as do the eyes that scorn,

This will be short, before the reason uncovered 

(Where is time?) I need to leave but I’m here as I can’t,

It’s an illusion, you can knock me down with a blink

(as long as the breath is deep)

I have set the tone! All is, so I shall fade 

And touch to dust the anticipations

That are already living in my brain,

What a horrible event, called so for itself 

And the temptations live in the eyes of those who read.

Farewell, for who is writing isn’t that which you read.

It’s more…


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