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Rated: E · Poetry · Nature · #2086170
A poem about nature.
I sit deprived of a simple love,

a pleasure of complexity that hurts my mind as I ponder its demise.
A towering construction of evolutionary attainment
that upholds the sanctity of humility.
The humility it takes to empathize with this nest of biological beauty that demonstrates the essence of purity.

I speak of the woods.

The quintessence of wonder.

For as I find my self there, my mind convulses into a robust flowering of a rare and fleeting happiness rivaled by nothing humanity can provide.

However as I said, I am deprived.

Alas does my simple love escape me.

For I am kept an exhausted prisoner of society.
My house a crumbling prison.
The people, wardens and watchmen.
And I, serving a life sentence.

But,

separated by an expanse of seemingly undying time,
there are those aberrant moments.
Climacteric moments in which I am gifted with the presence of my prodigious wild beauty.

And in those brief moments,
I lose myself as my mind is enveloped with the aura of the sweetest contentment.

Contentment that can only be found within the machine of nature.
A machine of immaculate parts.
The worms, writhing architects of the soil.
The birds, sirens of a sultry melodious bliss.
All components of this perpetual, all encompassing, emotion-soothing machine who's cogs and gears melt my soul into everlasting mesmerizing euphoria.

The euphoria of the forest.






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