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Let the Frenzy Begin

Stepping out of my comfort zone and onto a path less traveled. Poetry, a contest, and a surprisingly personal spot of writing.



The Offering

Hollow gourd.

Barren supplicant.

Ropes of pulp,

Stringy and sodden.


Bold stench.

The odor of earth,

moss-like, moldy.

Dull and sweet.


The cycle of yearning.

Hope.

Despair.

No Harvest this year.


Arms outstretched,

Muscles strain.

Salty, sharp sweat.

The offering made.

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