the groaning.

do you hear the muffled sound of my bones screaming under my skin?

my skeleton is like that tree over there-
our tattered framework is groaning at the same decibel level

we await for life to arise from the worn down ground;
for greenery to emerge after what feels like an endless winter

we await for the author to write us a new sonnet
about the beauty we withhold in the deepest bearings of our souls

and when those green elements of life emerge from the ground,
a glimpse of a kingdom worth waiting for is reflected from the light of the leaves.

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