The Tree, the Vine, and the Ant, Pt. Four
It is the stable soil, rich to the bedrock
that contains the heavy roots of a past, my past, which is darker than the fertile earth in which those memories are buried. Those anchors are damp from tears cried so long ago, yet they allow us to weave tall dreams and direct my spine straightly skyward. We are fed nutrients provided skeletons sleeping beneath our beams, their offerings monitored by the endless stream of peace-keeping ants, keeping them all in line. You cannot touch those corrupt anchors, my dear sweet vine. Remain unsoiled by their muddy handprints that never quite seem to fade from my once-glistening exterior. You are in every way above them. © heathers
|
Forgot your password? No problem. Other Writing by this WriterFans of this Piece (1) |
||
Top Rated ArtRecent Art CommentsTop Rated WritingRecent Writing CommentsCopyright © The Heel Press, LLC 2005-2007. All rights reserved. |
|||
Comments
Add a comment