The Poet’s Nest

A humble exterior, this place,

Maybe even….shall we say?

Rough?

.

Cigarette butts

in the dated planter,

A remnant of a city’s

Gas rationing days.

.

Dirty rain water,

a sweet melody,

As it flows

Down the gutter grates.

.

The boom of a sonic stereo

Echoes between

The tires, racing their way

Through the puddly pavement.

A jet takes off

From airplane town,

and I duck in…

…into a room off the

Main thoroughfare,

A gathering of sorts.

.

A guide, scribes, words,

Papers, pens, string.

Reverence for this place,

The place we give birth.

This place we call Earth,

unearthing words

that could save her,

Save us,

To look in and

Find us and

The true spirit that binds us.

.

Because from Lowest to Highest

Like the mushroom to Stardust,

Entwined all together,

She shall carry us farthest.

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