Wednesday, May 29, 2013


It spouts up brown
And pointed
Among stark sharp
Green needles
Of a pine tree
Near the end
Of the parking lot
Dripping neatly
With the last
Drops of
Morning dew
Gray skies
So fluffed up
With expectant rain
I can hardly breathe
New life
Grows out of
Old life
Rising high and sharp
But not without pain
So when the storms
Come and go
And explodes
With screams
And flashes,
The aftermath
Oozes with release,
This candling
Against the rise
Of dark skies
And dreary times
This passion of rebirth
I feel deep inside me.

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