I gently scooped up its body a dull stain now on one page smear of bee for some reason they are dying like memories scribbled by shaky hand the world is heavy without cathartic purge familiar spirits sit beside me if I could their voice would they mock my now terrible handwriting there are dots along the end of this page finite is slowly spoken in my mind for some reason they are dying the stain has spread over black lines in-between a dog barks I notice the presence of time without love it would cast shadows back to another dotted line a notebook never felt enough to voice fading recollection a soft whisper... try to avoid the stain then it shall be preserved as the moth once was life is a carousel constant motion of balance feet to grass thoughts enveloped with blue the soil remembers me here inside your head the monsters whirl she sings one more walk through the maze before a dotted line severs connection between ink blotted fingers and meandering mind
Poetry©Words Among Trees
Image - Pixabay - free domain
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