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I
am remnants of what used to stand tall and proud.
I
see only what lays at ground level.
I
hear the babbling of the water to my west and the singing if
birds above.
I
smell the fresh air of what I used to make.
I
taste only the dirt that I lay on, and the rock wedged against
my side.
I
feel the cold rock and my insides being dug into by the tiny
insects.
I
know everything that has happened in this place for the past
50some years.
I
wish to stand tall and proud but all I do is wait and wither
away.
I
say nothing, because there is nothing to be said.
I
am a log that lays here falling apart from the years of weather.
My
Own Hike
Calm,
peaceful, no loud laughing. It was nice to be completely alone,
no interuptions by talking or people. I felt like if I made
a solitary song it would break the beautiful glass picture of
what I was looking at.



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