from the same trunk we have branched out
exposing our similarities within the exoskeleton of our bark,
sprouting families of the same DNA.
labeled differently for ease of dissemination when the seasons change,
dropping wisdom back into the soil, allowing the Faith of our past
to be recirculated into the roots of a new generation.
each leaf proudly boasting its own color,
genetically identical, yet each hue denotes nothing special…
just to the eye.
becoming lustful of the flesh that boasts a different shade,
each branch becomes in competition with itself
masked by the foolish idea it is more evolved than its counterpart..
revolution has begun on the surface and it causes limbs to twist –
branches to die, reaching across to impose – to dominate;
the outward battle rages a fire that burns and scars within
slowly covering the past, and fooling tomorrows sprouts that this is the first
war of its kind.
and in the daylight, each tree dies blindly,
not realizing that its plight has become a reflection of the same genocide
happening around it.
clouds pour down rain of hope
begging with thunder to evoke a change of heart
if only, the leaves would look up once again.
please if you have critiques about my writing styles or thoughts, share. I am looking for feedback.
So this must be the beginning of my post to sell some art for real. I like what this website offers, we will see what happens. My request to all of you that have time and subscribe to my blog, please leave me some feed back. Let me know what I can do to improve, pass some knowledge, some suggestions. I am yearning to grow. Thank you for taking time to visit, read, God Bless you and your talents, your family.
The rubbing of clock hands against time, pulling forward the hour that is no longer available
Hard hitting echoes that mimick footsteps among fearful ears in the dark.
These leaves change color in a silent burst of excitment, anticipating the fellowship of the cornea and light. Dragging forth the bark of dark clouds upon pastel sunsets. Changing the dimly lit comfort of our day into a turbulent night.
Holding onto the chatter of breath through thinly parted lips, etching upon dancing veiled elements in the space between it all. A climatic, passionate, history…written in skin.
I’m tied to the blink,
the quiet photographs that capture
what I long for you to forget.
You are tied to the blink,
the shouting frames that captures
what you long to forget.
We are tied to the memories
the silent river that has surpassed it’s banks.