poetry of the heart is never dead

the cottonwood trees are shedding their cotton
beside the lake, beneath the trees
fluttering and dancing in the breeze
looking a lot lie snow in June 
the solitude here is my religion 
the smell of pines 
a magpie chattering at me from the aspen tree
the smoke of a lonely campfire 
the distant voices that whisper in the wind
all these things keep me from putting a gun to my head
I know where I want to be an who I want there
but of all the bridges I've burned 
which ones to repair
I like solitude give's one plenty of time to reflect 
but being alone without the one you love will drive you mad
I am the Spirit of freedom caught up in the tempest 
the poetry of the heart is never dead

~ D Donner ~

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