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I wish I were simple


red balloons are pretty

popped they are a tragedy

ice cream loves me

and mud is fun



but I am the layers of loam in the wood

a thousand colors

just in the spectrum of green

and one hundred and eighty degrees

stretching from dank earth to full bloom


the worst of times are those when I am still

but not quiet in my mind

thoughts buzz like hives moving their queen

the world’s weight on every wing

visions building mountains

where mole hills once stood


a multitude of dimensions playing hide

while my conscious mind desperately seeks

to make sense of that which fades and haunts

reality peeks from behind tree trunks

only to duck in owl holes

leaving me wondering – who

I really am and why

I must feel so much

when all I want to be


is simple