SuziCate's Musings

Despair

 Like miners seeking treasure, rooted feet carve tunnels in the darkness drinking morning dew day after day. Dead-headed sunflowers point toward the sun as if illumination alone could open the palms of crusted fists. And they all know what happens when the headlamp fades.


Like miners seeking treasure,
rooted feet carve tunnels in the darkness
drinking morning dew day after day.
Dead-headed sunflowers
point toward the sun
as if illumination alone
could open the palms of crusted fists.
And they all know what happens
when the headlamp fades.

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