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Friday, April 20, 2007

And I Die

The baby looked out the window.

Seasons go by;
Helping takes my time;
Life seems to pass…

The child sat on the porch.

The moon is back;
The stars have change;
The leaves begin to fall…

The adult grows flowers.

Winter’s winds blew
the problems away;
Spring breeds new life;

Now I harvest my red tulips…

My body lies on sweet ground.
My harvest new tulips lay on my grave;
The seasons no longer pass;
The moon will never rise again;

For I’m no longer bound to time…
I’m dead.
Alejandra Olivas
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COMMENTS
Alejandra Olivas 20 April 2007
This poem talks about life and death but not physically, its more of a psicological death. Like when a cycle ends for another cycle to begin. A fresh new start so call it. *Note* None of my poems are in any way suicidal!
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