Gaia Stirring
Then, I will weep the breath of my last ancestor Tried. In my palms, the catch of this depth, raining the oceans and floods. Torn out of me, peace replaced by mourning. I will seep of it, Rank of fires, unamassing oh a great mourning and reaping; To love so fiercely this earth, and her body, Never apart from me. Mourning and waxing in tides In pools In wells of black undertow Voids given over as cosmic proportions of self. Anxious. Ever Gestating. Everything toils to grow. It is the bitter frost bitten death Pinned in likeness to Summer char. It is the Spring. It is, the Autumn. In brown timelines of draped hair and ravaging leaves In a ceaseless wind. Anxious. Gut envy dropped and relegated to the motion pit of man. Empathic. C...
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