Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god

No Forward

I love the vines twisting and turning,
Pulling me apart,
And pulling me back.

They grasp me tight,
Like a mothers embrace.

Don't let me go.
I have no forward,
I seem to go backwards only.

I'm in a garden of remorse,
Comfortable in unruly weeds
And destined to not come out of this fog.

I am so warm,
Waiting for the sun to hit me,
So I, too, can bloom
Like the roses, like the ferns...

July 13, 2009


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