Voices From Roots To Flowers

I like underdogs, unknowns, the never reads

The writers who constantly live in their beds

Pouring out glasses of liquid language to settle as a legible stain on the skin of trees

I like the poet who is unsure of their every word

Unsure of every line

Unsure any one will ever take the time

Precious and fragile , easily breakable and mistakable for some thing already seen

and yet, under all that green lies glimpses of glittering gold.

Something the ‘classics’ will never hold

The feeling of something that will never get old

Because it never had public life

Never subjected to the critics knife

Naked , exposed poetry and prose

In the digital soil grows

Voices from roots to flowers

To bloom

and then soon

Fade away into Autumns first day

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