Currently a student at Emerson College, Class of 2014. BA Writing, Literature and Publishing. Specializing in Creative Writing, Book Design, and Editorial.
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I sat beneath the old maple tree, mind transporting,
soul cradling memories.What had just become, it could not process.
Numbness due to flurrying thoughts.
These moths trapped, reeking of recollections so antiqued.
Let me free, let me be, cruel Aphrodite.A postcard of Love: the ocean:
Deep, ambiguous, spectacular.
Calm and comfortable as the sun is red at night.
Terrifying, unsettled, as storms rip through its skies.Once I looked into your eyes, passion throughout,
I was never the same.
Love: your irises composed of shades
unlike any I have ever seen.
Love is held within, reflected in those coffee-stained spheres.Love is the black hole.
Darkness thrives in negativity, infinity a possibility.
A phenomenon, a belief held by few,
taking we travelers far from reality.
Love? Obscure, unbounded.
An unseen force,
found only by those who
do not venture for it.A love song: the bird's song.
A robin, singing for simple needs,
a hearth, comfort, room to fly.
Simplicity, the robin's nest.
Cradling the treasure, the heart.Sit 'neath an old maple tree.
That is where pure love stands.
Roots sturdy, yet branches reaching
toward a brighter hope, future ascension.
Firm grips on reality, yet dreamers,
swaying to the ebb of the earth,
Life—Love—spinning circles 'round their trunks.
Give them time, those seedlings,
they will rise to new heights.