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Swirling dissaray The light brown and dark brown of wood. Lines, rings, patterns. (A Haiku)
Green, white. Wood wafts westward into my nasal wonder. Beans crack and crumble away to dust As the black lake of broken dreams Boils into blight. Creators crawl the clavier, clawing
A mist of sawdust moved by the exhalation of a sleeping craftsman With a start he wakes blinking in the late afternoon sun that slinks its way through the drowsy shack
Amongst the quiet young night, Surrounded by darkened green And pale yellow glowing all around, A woman sat alone on a bench With no direction to head to And thoughts that cannot be contained.
Finally My soul can breathe Familiar, welcome Expand my lungs Tickle my nostrils Climb up my throat To sit on my tongue I taste the counters The drawers
My brethren and I are thrown,
In that forest deep and green They came across a maiden Unlike anything they'd ever seen With gold and jewels was laden With words of honey she led them Deep into the wood