RISEN

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The trees scorched in days past

It's trunk as dry as my tear

I bellowed through the darkness

Nothing is coming forth

My eyes dims but I still see

My feet  in quagmire

Surely I am in quagmire

I look at the ground; all darkness

I wake up suddenly, realising all was a dream of the past of my reality

As the present holds, I am steady never to blight no more

Lover of simplicity. An observer into laws of nature and meaning of existence.

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