flowers for an unmarked grave

This one is good!

A Writer's Soul

She passes by the tree every morning,
Watching the leaves sway as the sun glistens through the branches,
Never stopping to admire nature in her silent glory,
Not until she returns much later to a setting sun.
There is something foreboding about watching the sun descend,
Like she knows her time is limited to this single moment,
Captured in the beauty of the violet and blue and red (like splattered blood) skies.
She waits until the dusk has settled to look away,
Blinking away the tears, rubbing her eyes ready to face …tomorrow.
(Her eyes never leave the sky and its wonders)

The leafs sway gently in the wind, not breaking off branches and strong foundation,
She watches and waits, for something new to arrive to her nature scenery,
But all she is left with are leafs and the roots of a tree not meant to be moved.
She hears…

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About Michael Medlen

My name is Michael and during my free time I avoid having a day job. Strangely enough, this gives me the freedom to run this blog. I write just about anything that can be considered art. I also occasionally post articles that may or may not be relevant to the theme of this site. You’ve been warned.
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