The lost children of Id

My eyes are coerced Open mid-dream By whispers of Words profoundly sweet And pristine The voice of the unconscious Uncensored. As light filters in Through the haze of sleep Clogged brain They become sand Slipping through the slits In my mind. Not a grain remained At the gate of alertness. They are the lost Children…

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Beyond borders

South of the equator, In a land Dark and Barren far Away from the Sun Lies my heart Parched and gasping Sinking with Each breath Into Sheol.

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Seedlings

When the first shoot forced its Way out the soft wet soil, summer Arrived; breezy, Burning brightly  Brutally snuffed by cold Winter winds Hardening the soil Killing the tenderlings. 

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