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love when sought for will never be found,

because when you look amongst the withering trees,

you will most definitely find,

not the broken heart nor the manic mind,

but dandelions carrying the faintest of messages

that you shall choose to ignore.

these lies will keep you alive

for a night or maybe two

until the seeds disperse along the settled soil

that will soon be the grave of your burden.

you'll watch lovers trample the earth around your eventual sepulcher,

glowing with bliss and smiles dancing upon their lips,

skipping across with intricate rhythm,

as if composing their own ballads of affection.

you'll look over your shoulder

but whatever will you do,

when it is time for your grave to be dug?

for your hatred dines within your eyes

and your demons feast upon the happiness

that comes from your heart

you reread paper napkins of ink and promises,

tearing at the grass in contempt

and the dandelions that have already grown above your home,

the earth.

dandelions whisper

and you muffle them by blowing,

blowing away their seeds of truth

for silencing is what you have always known

but you both know,

that you will never be destined for love.

Editors: Blenda Y., Uzayer M.

Photo Credits: La Douleur (Sorrow) (1868-1869) by Paul Cézanne


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