Going Back There.

Going back to the forest,

Lagged from confusions of seeking answers

From the galaxy.

The leaves no more rustle

below my tip-toe steps of nostalgic familiarity.

Not as they used when we’d laugh and hug the trees

holding hands.

The trees no more whisper the tunes

of the love that hummed from our hearts

now harmed.

All is silent, as maybe it should.

But, alas you bloomed again precious.

So did your petals pretty sprout above the forest floor,

where I left you lying, crying, longing, waiting to wither,

to die.

I wish I’d try to pluck them again, and you’d prick me again.

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