plastic falling pieces
into ember-tear drops
and those tree roots
pulling at my leaf-heart
there’s a fire burning
devouring all I see
I could cry like a crow
but my spirit’d rather soar
and people dance and trip
across the blink of an eye
a measure of their life
less than a yawn from nature
and plastic falling pieces
never shatter when they fall
only leaving psychedelic patterns
all across my mind
but I love to walk in a rain
made of broken sharp shards
of blue stained glass

:: 04-24-2014 ::

About EPRobles

Writer, Artist. I like to paint abstract acrylic images onto canvas. I love to read everything, and I especially enjoy science, philosophy, and the arts. I'm new to the blog experience and I very much enjoy it! I hope to learn as much about all the features that WordPress offers and thank you -- my visitor -- for taking time to read my words. Peace and love... View all posts by EPRobles

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