Live a poetic existence. Take responsibility for the air you breathe and never forget that the highest appreciation is not to just utter words, but to live them compassionately.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Ode to a Poppy

It was just one thing that surrounded me.
White blossomed fingertips
embraced my cheek,
blown in by the doubt of the sky.
I was neither a child, nor woman-
but simply
a pith
licking the corners of the afternoon,
waiting near the warm gates.
Life had lived so dimly in my body.

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