Mental Nature

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Firm rooted trees of stable mind watch the land,
Watch the land fall to wild ruin.
An overgrown fortress of lost moments,
It's pathetic pleas in the whispered breezes.
Lone, slender fingers slice through silent streams.
Songs of sympathy reside in them
Knowing full well of the mourning no one else commits to.
Yellowed ended blades poke out from deep crevices,
Nothing more than a tickle of a thought
Like the faded scar on the back of someone's hand.

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