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Ashley Van Schaeffer©

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Thursday, April 21, 2011

Tree Poetry

Wake in the morning to a soft hand in my hair
We exchange smiles
And speak through tiny bits of laughter.
The ceiling fans moan soothes me
While I gaze out the window.
As you melt the buttons off my paisley shirt
Your passion speaks more phrases and clauses
Then we've ever actually spoken...

I make my way downstairs
And out the door for a smoke.
It smells of patchouli and camp fire
With hints of lilac sprinkled like pixie dust
In the area that closes off my heart.
I listen to the frogs chat.
They're sounding off jokes
And better poetry than I've ever written
It seems they know something that I may never grasp.
The trees become my friends
I listen to their conversation
I feel as though they're trying to tell me something
Suddenly I become flushed and extremely self-aware
"I've got to get out of here!"
Is the only thing that pounds off my skull
Like someone knocking at a locked door
I turn swiftly, yet cautiously
My eyes bounce to every angle I can see
Forming a geometrical shape I can't quite identify.
Although I've never known much about math,
I know you are the center of that geometrical gaze
And math, makes me nervous!
The door slides open
And you're standing in the kitchen
Like a giddy child with a brand new toy
I say "I'm gonna go."
You sigh.
I fiend for what will never be said by anyone,
But the trees.



Experience. Freedom. Love. Now.

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