Monday, September 22, 2008


Can't escape this feeling.
This love isn't dead.

We poisoned it with hurt and anger.
We smothered it with empty routines.
We starved it with inattention and silence.
We burned it with fear and mistrust.

We did so little to keep it alive,
... but the stubborn thing still surives.

Love's seeds are on the ground, waiting.
Winter's cold will claim many of them.
Some will be trampled and crushed.
Others will dry up and wither.

But if even one tiny seed survives.
The whole tree can bloom again.


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