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Current mood:could be better Category: Writing and Poetry
Unrealized
Life came through her garden, humming
ageless songs within her throat.
She snipped here and there seeking
in her arbitrary way some perfection.
Twigs and withered blossoms fell
to rest and decay in soft tended loam.
Here and there a solitary bud caught
her eye and she raised shears to remove
some hint--crease or brown--of imperfection.
He was nipped in the bud,
the briefest snow white broke
though green, ready for light.
But was it frost or cruel shears--
he knew not. Just instant loss...
If he ran blood through those
unspread petals it might have felt
like a broken heart, crushed
in the clutches of unrealized
potential. The fullness of sun
hardly seen, barely felt, never known.
10:11 AM
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