Poems & Musings,  Writing

Sequoias

I think, if I could live as long as they do,

Maybe life wouldn’t be so mysterious

Or maybe I would simply accept the mystery

And not question it.

Maybe I would be braver

With my head in the clouds,

If I knew my roots were deep as heartbeats.

Maybe I would find myself beautiful

With my russet bark, the color of autumn,

And my proud, regal bearing.

Instead, I walk below them,

Fragile against them, my bones and skin glass.

The wisdom beneath my fingers,

Of things known and unknown,

All the nameless years,

Stretched up and away from me into the sky.

Sara Myriad

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