Poll: 3rd place
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View poll results: 3rd place
5 71%
2 29%
Voters: 7.
The Heart of an Oak

The heart of the oak,
Seventeen years grown,
Beats quickly in my hands,
And with each subtle convulsion,
Trickles out streams of deep green:

“Remember when you clung to my body, tight,
Safe from the natural order of things
That were trying to blow you off the globe.”
“Remember when you clung to your lucky four-leaf lover, tight,
Under my limbs, and
Kissed each other under the cover of my color.”
“Remember when you kissed me”
and kissed me and kissed me and kissed me and—

I throw it
As if I were setting a butterfly free,
The throbbing arcs skyward,
To flutter by into the neighbors yard,
Into that one spot outside of the new borne baby’s room.

And the heart of the oak,
Still fresh from it’s womb,
Beats into the ground,
The beats resound,
And the beats resound.

My, isn’t rebirth beautiful,
Cocoons pumping
Until their green streams
Grow to rivers, then to lakes
Then surges upward
Into the heart of an Oak.


I saw some sand lying on a concrete path today,
Miles from any place that sand would or could be,
It got me thinking,
Why in the hell was sand all the way over here,
This path had to be a good 10 or maybe 15 miles away from any beach,
It made no sense,
Then I started thinking,
Could it have been from a long haired surfer dude,
Who decided to **** the car and walk back himself,
Board over his head,
Impressing all the girls he walked by with his muscles and sand-ridden hair,
His thoughts not on them, but on the next time he could go out and catch that one...perfect...wave,
Maybe it was here where he finally decided to brush the sand off,
Now that he's back in society there was no need for it,
Could it have been from a little kids pail,
One that he filled up with sand in hopes that he could build a castle when he got back home,
A great castle with a terrible yet merciful king who ruled with an iron palm for high-fives,
And served ice cream to all the knights that rode on puppy dogs,
His parents might have seen the pail and told him to drop the sand,
There was no use for a castle here, in society,
I think once more,
Who could this sand possibly belong too for I seriously doubt there is a roving sand elf that sprinkles this dust of refined dreams onto the paths that we walk on,
There is a chance that it belonged to someone famous,
Someone sad,
Someone who just won the lottery,
Someone who got a bad, but not too bad, sunburn,
A cancer patient, a big Hollywood executive,
A bum that lives on the street, but lives more than we ever could,
A Christian, A Jew, A black, A white, A Latino,
An anyone,
This sand belonged to someone,
And then I look up, caught off guard from my wonderings as a man walks by with a broom,
He sweeps up the sand that could have for maybe one moment only, belonged to the love of your life,
And throws it in his trash bag,
And continues walking down the street,
Unaware of the dreams he carries with him.