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Unlimited
Unfed, unwatered, unsunned.
1 min readJun 13, 2019
The bones in my ears
delicate and fragile
vibrate with the force
of inevitable downfall.
Unfed,
unwatered,
unsunned:
any plant
would
curl up into
dry leaves
and expire.
And yet here comes the sun
shrouded by a summer rain
and death feeds
my soil.
I have unlimited
flowering
blossoms.
Sam Ripples is an essayist and novelist living in southern Colorado. She has an interest in words that provide the mind, body, and soul with rejuvenation and hope. You can follow her on Twitter here.
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