Let Her

I wrote you a letter
I could never mean.
Trial and error - 
the survivalist mantra:
blessed are the meek. 

In another era, 
closed captioning
open for grief. 
Down hung heavier -
cycles more vicious
than obscene.

My rock-tied tantra
sunken beneath
a murky green. 

Lemonade day breeze

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Another Compromise

Awakening on its journey,
a smell of slight decay.
Leaves sloughing from the canopy. 
A zombie losing the safe promise
of summer fruits.
Scurry and hurry to the beat
of a sacred, albeit fatalistic, 
yearly routine.
Close to where we started,
but no less sweet to see,
the two by two's; the families; 
their long sleeves