The Silent Gate This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

November 19, 2009
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There’s a tree trapped in a glass
In the middle of the sea
And it wears all of our hearts
As if they were dry, brown leaves

And no wind whistles with the beat
No waves splash again the red
The still water saturates silently
Beneath the surface dead

And if you see a ripple
Do not panic now
For that is the dead come calling
With sweat falling from their brows

They reclaim their dry red hearts
Resting in the tree
And go on to the resting place
In the roots
Under the tree
In a glass
In the middle of the sea.

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