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The Blue Wood

The blue wood.

It is a place where

Nobody laughs

(Trees cannot laugh)

And gossip does not exist.

The cool air is not

Gunked with fumes,

It is

Breathable.

Only the metronome sound

Of a woodpecker and the

Slow, sighing swish

Of the trees in the wind

Can be heard.

 

In this wood,

The trees are not green.

Night has leaked them

Of colour

Like humanity has

Leaked them of life.

This blue wood

Is dead.

Dead, but beautiful as well.  I suppose things can be that way.

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About E.K.M.

Studying at university, passing the time until a publishing Talent Scout comes to pick me up and whisk me away to a world where I can be an author without having another source of income. If only.

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