Maple LivesA Poem by EpipsychologistNot about Canada
It was beautiful, the way he died.
They said it was like sleeping. All his loved ones gathered 'round, and cried, Like winter willows weeping. Their little tear leaves fell gently down, blessing the trunk that bore them. Those seedlings scatter across the ground, Like Onan's wasted semen. Green leaves can be pleasing to the eye, But amber hues are more splendid. That's how artists try to justify, Why spring and summer ended. With colorful splendor do they paint, Rife changings of the seasons. So we perceive death's beautiful taint, as giving our lives reason. © 2013 EpipsychologistReviews
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StatsAuthorEpipsychologistChester, PAAboutI'm heavily interested and influenced by psychology. I also appreciate philosophy although I haven't taken any courses since high school. I believe a good writer should want desperately and insatiably.. more..Writing
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