February 26, 2010
Sometimes we take life for granted and like the crunchy gravel in the cracks of my boots, I too, am dry, Like the sahara, No longer needing the blissful water of this world, contominated by tainted attempts of utopia.

It leaks into my pores, dehydrated as I am, My skin withers and sighs, wanting this radiation of lies to leave peace.

I've grown a long way from the rested bays of life, in the craddle of the broken and defeated, it is longer I waited, at the shores, cheering, urging, for the waves of promises to nip at my toes, only for a slight.

The wave never comes, it resides in its safe pools, where no scarred rock lays beneath it's torso. It knows where I have been, see's my hurt on my face, so lucidly they are, telling my seekingness as clear as the thunder clouds over head.

Should I worry or hope that in time this change ever so to be spoken of over and over again. No, that change like the season wind flowing to every living, won't come, it is us ...the torn and oblivious must change.

My bones, so intentionally being pricked, ants rolling around my ankles, my grand children laugh above me, they are sad, the world is dying.

I know it is because with each dead is like a dead cell of the earth. Just listen, like I, are watching the eyes of the world.

IDK :)

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