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Another attempt at poetry

The Free and Emerald Green

Blades of Emerald Green
Shall soon set me free.

For one of them comes:
One of the great sons.

A miscalculation means certain death,
But only she could ever take my breath.

The feel of his vibration
Mixes with my own anticipation.

I climb the stalk
As he continues his walk.

His steps shake me.
I canít do this; how can it be?

But I must be with her.
I do not care what wrath I occur!

From the green I plummet to the pale peach
Just within my reach.

Soft skin reminds me of my hunger.
But I must restrain myself further.

Spiraling up the jungle,
I wait and huddle.

With each step, he takes me closer.
O! To be even this much closer!

The heat sinks into my body
As my stomach lay empty.

My hands begin to lose their grip.
My life starts to slip

I begin to fall,
But nothing is all I saw

I return to the blades so green
That promised to set me free.

In a post-apocalyptic world where the western hemisphere is ruled by the iron fist of the Toys 4 Us Company, only one man will have the ball bearings (rides a mechanical ostrich) to stop them.

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The following comments are for "The Free and Emerald Green"
by OmegaGambit

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