confessions of a struggling poet

zero

first poem to get the ball rolling

the spring
i am thinking about
pretty white flowers
that sway obediently
when the wnd blows.
The flowers that stand out
perfectly
in the middle of
the green meadow...
white flowers
that grew from
the ground...
feeding on the remains
of the pretty white flowers
that died before them...
2:03AM
June 4, 2005


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