![]() ![]() Their mouths ever open,salivating under a tree The home breakers forget nothing.They come back.They need more.Their flames ever hungry. The bees don't remember too.They repeat their love story,Season. Perhaps forgiveness is their second skin. The forest had muffled the whiff of robbed honey.The sky had muffled the clarion calls of anguish.The trees don't remember any of it. With swords of angry light they set home after home on fire.Grabbed all the love. Their flames sliced the startled night air Just like they would break all things brimming with love.Does this tree remember those dancing home- breakers?They always came before daybreak spilling over like the bosom of a day old mother.So golden. ![]() Limp and brown, almost weightless.Once a hive, home to a hundred workaholic bees.Its windows heavy with sun-kissed juices. This tree for instance, with a dirt brown mass dangling dangerously from its branches OH DON'T YOU JUDGE THIS BOOK BY IT'S COVER,ĭo you think trees are good with memories? SAME SIDE OF THE COIN, IT'S ALL IN THE MIND. THAT WILL SOLVE AND SAVE A LOT OF LIVES.īUT WITH A HOPE THAT YOU'LL BE ABLE TO FACEįOR OUR FUTURE GENERATIONS TO BREATH GOODNESS,įOR THEM TO BE ABLE TO BE THE ABSOLUTE RECIPIENTS THE NEGATIVITY GET THE BEST OF ME PERIOD. TRYING HIS BEST TO BE A BETTER VERSION OF HIMSELF, TO HEAL FROM THE CYCLE OF BEING VICTIMIZED,īUT FROM ALL THE GUILT THAT OVERWHELMED MEįOR CAUSING PAIN TO PEOPLE I NEVER WANTED TO. I FEEL SORRY FOR THE STAINS OF MY INTERNAL
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |