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the world must know a million things.
like the heavy smell of wood sweetly dripping aged rain into soil's foot,
rooting soot strung low in a lake of rotting light
and drowning sleep, and when it does sometimes,
the world must know of laying quietude softly upon itself when it must
and skip the stone laced silence of night's breathing until we dream again.
| This is an awesome emotional treehugger poem. I'm sure I'm missing the metaphor, but I love it anyways. Good job!|
PS: Quietude is a word?
|| Posted on 2007-08-11 00:00:00 | by Kiddo | [ Reply to This ] |