would I

trade in gold for grey,

make a sacrifice of the captured sky

in a net of scattered clouds?

or would I hold myself as wholly still,

satisfied in the grasp of sinking grass

that a mind and pulse can’t fill?

well I might be a traitor;

nature has my heart

but the leaves are ill when we’re apart

& the sky with its sun

just welcomes in,

infinitely beckoning

& so, it’s true

without you in,

the glimmer of the world wears thin.


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