The search
from the roots,
through the vast fibrous stalks,
and wood that doesn't budge
unless you would have it
For truth,
is often a dark one.
The luckiest moments
evaporate out of the
skyward tips,
Reaching, ever reaching
for the correct contributive effort,
for the moment that
will inspire the next true poet.
Avoiding the rancid
rot that some
deciduous pillars
frequently fall to.
The journey continues,
Sun ever-beckoning.
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