-pages
words on a page,
tattooing your art onto a trees veins,
it’s flesh sacrifice,
nothing more than placing your ear,
on the pillow of your heart,
and calling it a liar.
demanding it step aside,
as you wait for the bashful soul,
to raise its voice,
yes poetry, is raising the whisper of the soul,
to a hum,
eventually enough people hum it,
and the earth quakes,
for one more tree to rupture and grow,
for one more sacrifice,
one more tattoo.
-W.E.
why trees grow
why trees die
why hearts lie
why souls whisper
why people hum
why earth quakes
why earth ruptures
why trees grow
why trees die
why poetry is breath
-W.E.
lonerloaner 