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#poems

Here’s another poem

Nature envelops us in her embrace

Delicate, the slightest touch could kill it

Mother Nature can soothe just by her presence

Nature is calming

The efflorescence of a flower

Its fragile petals, soft at the touch

A vibrant green stem that holds up the structure

Elegant leaves stretching outward to soak up the sun

Oh! the aromas of the sweet flowers

Yet beware of its delicateness, for it can break easily

Flowers aren’t the only parts of nature

Trees are important, providing oxygen through photosynthesis

The hard texture of the lithe bark

Ridges in the branches

Leaves, yes; some flowers, too

Sometimes trees bear fruit if fortune smiles upon it

Nature is not all about looks

Thorns on the rose, obscured by the leaves; poison oak, causing an unpleasant rash

Venus flytrap, forced to live off of meat; berries that can kill

Mother Nature shrinks by the second, and we could do so much more to save it

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im done.

and it releases like a flood, torrential,

angry.

im done.

and it’s like a door unlocking, gentle,

swinging open with the familiarity of

the comfort of a front porch.

im done.

and it’s in agony, a wailing lover,

crying out for an oasis in a desert.

im done.

and I’m done.

im so jaded, dear.

I’m so tired.

I’m done.

I’m done.

(she doesn’t hear me.)

I’m done.

there is no room in my heart for

anything but reciprocal.

I am not a spring of life,

I am a forest creek.

I end and I begin and I

give when I choose.

here is my heart, I whisper.

it will pump my love through your waiting

veins. it will heat your skin through

blizzards and thunderstorms.

here are my hands, I whisper.

they will keep you safe through

war. they will touch your cheeks with

such reverence the gods will call

us their religion.

there was never a response.

it was a gift to empty eyes.”

and I’m done.

I’m done.

it has begun to scar.

it hurts too much to care.

and I am too tired to heal.

and I am to scared to leave.

I’m done,

as I unglue myself from you.

I’m done,

as these riverbanks run wild with

rainwater.

I’m done,

as the chorus begins in the canopy—

every end is a new beginning,

the saying mingles with birdsong,

when I set foot on moss and baby’s breath.

I’m done with you, my love.

“I have just begun with me.”

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There was occupation, a market for tracing, clouded October and open fire, there was text flattened into macabre telescope, an orchestra of stolen petrified skulls, there was tombs made civic hand-drawn cattle splayed in spectrums of gray, there was afterword—New World Order of sunsets, a sugar plantation and a French slave master’s son, there was a fixation of birds, there was a hobby of arranging murdered muses with wire to be painted exactly like this, there was a book of the dead named Birds of America, an incident of canon, there was grove air, there was turpentine, orange and harvest, and piles and piles of indentured coiling, there was Syrian Christians petitioning against Yellow to better own houses, there was stacks of pledges and dictionaries without song, a refugee crisis and a father with a flag pin, there was a daughter and her pages of class mobility, there was hours of wrists and balconies and inadequate protest, there was an inquiry into how the green lawn occurred, there was a poet trying to retrace a book of the dead, she entered many cities portending a crow in spring, wearing a dress glimmering of sweatshops, she asked the tarot reader in New Orleans for clues: The corpses in you are damaged, but they have a lot to say.

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Chuck Akot, splendore di speranza
It is quite a calling, a radiance of hope, glimmering like melted stars, where this attention, devotes itself to be in your arms again. Oh, the feeling, that feeling, you must know, it is alive again, bringing the pieces together before our eyes. I could naturally embrace it, and be air or anything that is invisible or flies, with wings or hissing sound.
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There’s smoke in the sky again
A grey haze keeping the truth hidden-
You, with your gas masks,
Can’t see it choking the rest of humanity-
Coming from the torch you light
In the name of liberty.

Bearing the brunt
Of a system that doesn’t care,
Weighing us down
With guns in our faces,
And knees to our necks
We can’t breathe.

Though you solely may not be blame,
Remember that the world was always on fire,
It is only now
That YOU see the flames.

If we burn, 

You burn with us

                                      -h.q.

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Chuck Akot, spina dorsale
The world in you,
the beauty and its claw
resides in your backbone:
see it, feel it, cling to it!
Your soul lives somehow
only to know and explore
the young and mundane.
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Hey, guys! Thank you to those people who liked and reblogged my post(s). I appreciate it. I actually want to hear from you, let me know if you want me to post some of the poems I have constructed. It’s free for interpretation. Thanks!

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