henry long

I thought it might be fun to publish some of the poetry I worked on last year during school. None of this has been seen before, all of it is original, some of it I am proud of. This one is titled “thank you W.W.”

Brown, brittle pages float between my fingers

words from Whitman whisper along the pages

telling stories of nature and its wonders

His voice reverberates with ever intricate detail

the world around me comes alive with every breath

of mine

and of his

green leather grasps the words and warms my hands

the whispers cease as I close the doors on the outside world

dead trees leave my cradle for another

we’ll sojourn until the next study

until then I read the words of the world.

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I thought it might be fun to publish some of the poetry I worked on last year during school. None of this has been seen before, all of it is original, some of it I am proud of. This one is untitled.

a Gate that always stays open

Trees that stay put and leaves that

change with the seasons

A downhill road that I have traveled before

with friends with lovers with family

the Bridge creaks and crones as I step across it t

he winding Path ahead that takes me exactly where I need to be

When I finish

the Bridge cries out once more upon my exit

the Road is now steep and tiresome the leaves have all fallen

and the Gate stays open

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