sjsprWriting

Stems and vines grow upong

ld houses of the dead and 

forgoten,

as if trying to captivate the essence

of beauty and ife

that the dwelling once held.

I can almost feel the fingertips 

of the petals and bushes that 

brush against my skin

and the calamity of the river,

moving with each rise and fall of my chest.

Spring and summer seasons 

each bring giving that one

can most nearly relate to the 

feeling of love.

And perhap compare and contrast

the two using similes

that remind one of winter.

The dirt beneath my feet create 

dark wedgest in between my toes.

I smile with the though of 

m body being a metaphor of  flower,

although my roots are not deep within this soil.

To find peace in between the

shadows of light

and the freshness of the air 

never ceases to fil me with company

that never leaves me feeling empty.