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There's nothing more delicate than a treeWeaves of branches and vascular tissueWaving nutrients down the halls of its elaborate hostelWith every needle, one more can be addedA soul, a spirit all to its ownActing as a single unitGrasping at what little we can seeAnd only hope to feelThey are the giants of our worldEver extending into the vast earthConnected with one another in ample nutrientsIt's no wonder we like treesMaybe it's human nature To observe natureAs if humans are the base of creationAnd there lies the mysteryHow so many stories are forgottenMore so than human kind could ever musterYet they are bound to each ring, each root, each branchStories harvested in wonderful flux of this earthWhat little we don't knowWhen knowledge is beyond our comprehension.
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This peom is about a woman in my life, who is suppose to be there for me but is not.
Dreams, desires, id and ego.
This poem is about our failure to feel fulfilled by our constant consumption of life.
Read it and find out.