martes, 19 de abril de 2011

The Vine

It is incomplete, and it shall stay that way


Because it matters not to the vine
Whether the tree is dead or alive
It will use it as support
It will use it as guide,
Giving false comfort
Whispering soft lies

It´s only matter is the final goal,
The tree´s aware but won´t say no
Because the vine keeps a warm hold
And the tree is oh so tired
Of being alone


Taking away its nutrients
Taking away its light
The tree is dying
and nobody will cry,
But it wouldn´t have it
any other way,
For it is happy to have had the vine.

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