Personal

Poet’s Tree

Poetry is like a Poet’s Tree

Every thought like a branch blooming leaves intangibly

Syllables dance in crooked lines like ants chased by honey bees

And honey please,

I could probably better understand my dreams

If the boogeyman hit a two step and the sandman learned to sing 

Even my nightmares rhyme with each scene

Of the obscene things buried deep in my cerebral’s stream

The same stream that belts out the roots that births forth new fruit

Each word is Speak is truth

I’m a poet. This teee is proof. 

Heavy Rains from the Skies of my Brain; photographed at my domain.

I am Eryka 

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