SENSES
I see the silence
coming from the tree,
one with no branches
one no one can hold on to.
I feel a sense of helplessness,
for I too am in need of branches,
to grasp on to the motions,
or a sense of touch, I can not feel.
I hear the dawn rising,
for the moon has hidden,
as the breeze whirls in a circle,
one to last till the sun sets in.
I am content with my senses,
for when the petals bloom,
I can see a flower of beauty
blossom, right in front of me.
Senses need not be defined,
for they are senseless if not united.
Yana Petkov
6th December 2006
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