The Stranger

by Zee Southcombe

The earth was red; a burnt auburn,
And the shrubbery growing from this earth that was almost
Awake,
Breathing,

Bursting with life.

The whole forest glowed with soft, bright moss
That clung tightly to rocks, and trees; Oh, the trees!
They danced
Twisting,
Singing,

Willing us to join them.

The collection of strangers, forced together in some
Twisted scheme.
A conversation, barely, a collision of ideals, desperately
Searching,
Praying,

For someone like me.

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