Seed of Life

The word “never” stretches out,
Can your meager syntax nourish
the hungriest souls of tomorrow?
They are centuries older than the zeroed
heart of the warmest blood —

   not a   dro

Aimé, say hello:
to love your Césaire-ish
prose is to BREATHE outside
this sinful flesh decaying as
I write. Weeping for sorrow.
Weeping for love. To never hide
my sun, to grow a seed of Life.
My love!

:: 12.15.2019 ::

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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