Seasons-Unorthodox

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A poem for an contest on Allpoetry.

Submitted: April 28, 2011

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Submitted: April 28, 2011

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Lush and green, a brush across a canvas

 
A bud sprouts anew, struggle for life, a sapling.

 
Aching growing knotted whole stretching living wanting; nymph-like lass.

 
The world around, start’s aching and dying what’s happening?

 

Spring has sprung; life budding round, hawking cries? and starking sound.

 

Arching cry, grasping at sun's lusty rays, our life source; photosynthesis.

 

Life radiating from the soil round the roots, wrenching and coiling, wound, unsound, unheard, unbound.

 

Though life coils from the ground death harbours in the air; a tough and wretched gale; wind and rain; nature; synthesis.

 

 

The frost has come, sapling now grown, beautiful majestic oak, knotted branches, with knotted hope.

 

A bird flying against grey sky, leaving behind behind a broken tree; a broken nest.

 

The trees rotting and dying; the world can cope.

 

The tree has no hope, the world can cope, like the rest.

Our sapling has grown, to heights unsurpassed.

But like coming seasons; inevitable, it has passed.


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