Sdrawrof

Soil and its roots could teach a teacher how to reach.

Branches and their leaves could preach to a preacher on light to seek.

What do these thematic themes have in common?

A omnipresent beginning and an end.

A cycle of events to compile a blend.

A life lived from seed to experience, experiences again and again.

What do these eventful events tend to summon?

A natural beautiful bountiful bend.

A measured mending lending life and then,

A home or memory for you, Us, and them.

We’re sure to see what’s hope? Love.

Direction is difficult when it’s too and fro.

From which way are we to go?

A bit to the left, you’re in for a stitch.

Moving back and bitterly to the right could help to halt a fight.

From the source,

It seems obvious,

Moving forwards stems from thinking “well, of course!”

To what end?

Oops, you’re back at the beginning again.

Direction is difficult when it’s cyclical.

From which way are we to flow?

A bit back and suddenly, a ditch.

Moving frank and forward could halt a fright.

From soils surrendering sight,

It seems oblivious,

Moving backwards stems from action on “well, I might!”

Branches sway every direction.

It’s natural chaos offering its blood.

Even when they’re barren.

Still.

We can only guess what’s holding will.

When we make our presence known.

There’s roots.

I’ll show you our history of how we’ve grown.

There’s Alone.

Branches in the ground.

An end that begins life again.

This time rest outputs a sound.

An empty echo of decay and superstition.

An end that begins life again.

That time rest output a crown?

A figure void of color and condition.

I move backwards to fulfill a mission.

To move forward to plant my feet.

Release my branches of a life worth giving.

Praise the Sun for it’s essence and missing.

For its companion that shares its wishing.

For a world rooted in transmission.

Grounded by superposition.

Words like wisdoms, clashing cataclysms.

Casting creatures creating contradictions.

Cruelty ceased constant commissions.

Calling concerning cornered confirmations.

Counting countries co conspirators could crumble constellations.

Creeping crawling cankered cracking closed controlled conditions.

Continued citing cedes cynicism.

Crafting cranes catches clean collisions.

Crying cold, copied.

Candid conversations.

Clear curing cycling concentration.

Coiled candles croaking consummation.

Cutting cymbals clanking computations.

Freeze.

Shifting between occupations.

Thaw.

Breathing feels like subtle stimulation.

Thinking in adherent simulation.

Root.

Leave.

Rot.

Breathe.

Stoop.

Seethe.

Release.

Need.

Branch.

Reach.

Watch.

Sleep.

Repeat.

Eat.

Sway.

Ignoring what the rhythms say.

Breath brings me slowly steady.

Like the earth when the rivers ready.

Quenching the thirst of roots ‘round levies.

The Nile has a branch of many.

Like it I grow when the rain is heavy.

Rooting foundation in slow forgetting.

Shedding leaves like they’re resenting.

Before and after frost I am setting, myself up for no regretting.

Carried forth by indiscretions.

I set my sights on kindred lessons.

To help those channel their aggressions.

Into something short of micro expression.

Art.