Here I,
the young bud,
lie in bed,
abusing myself,
as I wait to bloom.
The shadow
dances on the cave wall,
mocking the prisoner
as he pulls the
cold, heavy chains
that keep him there.
Taking no pleasure
from my partial arrousal,
my thirsty roots
search the dry soil.
The little turtle
slowly sticks his head
out of his shell,
sees himself in the pond,
and quickly
sticks it back in.
I stroke and
at the climax
I shoot dust.
A man chases a boy
through the dark wilderness.
He slips in the snow,
slides onto a frozen pond.
The ice starts to crack.
Seeing the plant,
the old sage
lifted the limp flower,
opened his canteen
allowing the soil
to drink.
"Look at you resting there,
cold and lonely,
HA!
Go seek your melting point.
See the many as nought
and ten thousand things
will disolve
into the river,
everflowing,
over rocks
and its bed,
widening its banks
as it stretches
through the void."
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