Writing
There is no pride nor a sense of superiority No guilt nor shame The heart opens No happiness nor sadness No past nor future Just simple joy
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A drop of water; seas within, oceans without. She rises.
Two trees; one still adolescent, the other ancient. I place my palm, caressing the youngling’s bark; so smooth, yet a little cold.
Within me rests a treasure trove, ever-pulsing in symphony with my heart. Concealed and guarded by resistance, it trembles with volcanic vigor.