Stop bleeding heart!!!!!

Grown old,

And tired,

But still the heart,

Bleeds.

Leave,

Left,

Yet,

????????

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Curse and the trees’ spirit is broken, forever, in an island in South Pacific. Really, yes, really.

In this island when the islanders want to get rid of an unwanted tree,

They simply send their holy/unholy chanters,

To start yelling curses at the tree,

Horrible words,

Abuses,

Threats,

Showing them f.   You gestures,

Blaming,

And what not at the top of their lungs vocal capacity,

They start each day from dawn to dusk

This act with a group of these wizards

Is repeatedly conducted,

For 30 days,

Non stop,

Ultimately,

The massive tree,

Oak or no oak,

Falls on its own,

The dictum of these people,

Crush the spirit of the tree,

Thy it will fall on its own,

Success attained,

They rejoice,

And merrily dance away the trees death,

After the celebrations,

The shunned tree is thrown,

Even then they don’t stop,

They use its logs for fire,

Till allis lost,

Of the beautiful tree,

That once gave fruit,

Perfumed biossoms

And stood under the scorching sun,

Burning itself to give shade to others,

“We just break its spirit”

They chuckle on a job well done.

P.s. the tree now that ain’t enough,

Please spare my seeds, as if u can get anymore out of my ashes,

Shit piss or vommit, or show five fingers to it

But pl let me have a decent exit,

As that’s all I ask for,

What if one day

You will also become that tree?

Till then,

🙏🏿

The dead tree

William Wordsworth 

Escape my lense

Being a student of English literature,

One is often bedazzled by the tremendous power and play of words,

Words that have no impact when we study as a chore,

But as age ripens we do comprehend the glorious imprint,

It leaves on our minds and hearts.

The ebb and flow of those phrases,

Bring us to a world of constant pleasure and tremendous soothing.

Poetry, of the the masters,

Is a gift of wisdom and eternal passion,

For its readers,

One such poet is undoubtedly,

The ace master,

William Wordsworth.

And the first introduction was the daffodils,

And how can one forget that timeless simple poem,

Dedicated to nature,

And gods glory.

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She’ll wear seashells 

Escape my lense

Count the seashells and each year

That we lived,

2gether,

Is enough for the rest of my passing life,

I have lived,

Now, it is just the

Sacrifices for people who had not lived

While we did

But the truth is

What a life!

Beautiful

Thanks,

Now I have no more wishes,

As all are inside me ,

As you,

We may have lost,

But won,

Forever,

In soul,

Spirit

And

Next life,

My hand will wear this seashell bracelet

By you,

Till then it remains

In my hearts’ niche’.

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