The Tree
the bent oak that once grew straight is now all twisted and gnarled from age.
The gray moss hang’s from it’s limbs, a red bugs delight.
Cracks have torn it’s trunk apart only to reveal the disease.
The ingrown pathogen that now weakens this once majestic Stemma of time.
Never knowing when it will take it’s toll.
Bringing her crashing to the ground cacophonously .
Dead and stale.
Who’s is this?
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Really? I like it. A lot. Is it new?
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sorry hon. i’m slow. i even made a mental note to come here and tell you. as of now, the gates are closed. we hope to open them soon. when they are open, we have a few people that will read a few pieces of work that you submit. i’ll email atropos @ thefallen@opendiary.com and let her know that you are interested. if you leave me your email, i’ll have her contact you when we open the gates
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to let more fallen in. *smiles* now, that i have that out of the way, i’m going to look through your diary and read some. take care & be well. rusalka//
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