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Leaden Heart

With fall comes a boisterous ball

Filled with wild colors, flaming reds that stall

Time and create a feeling that’s heavy in the head.

Worries abound: pandemic, school, health,..

Where to start or stop with the heaviness

That steals your breath?

Money, money, money, materialize and grow in the yard.

Grow into a thick trunked tree and seed me your harvest.

Don’t die out in winter and stop your perpetual

Rejuvenation of yourself, my family, and mine.

Without your harvest my heavy head turns to lead,

My heart turns to steely stone,

And my motivation dies a silent screaming death.

By Malakkc

I'm a Canadian whose life has been interesting as I've lived in Developing countries and here. The contrast of law, order, and amenities available to us Canadians (which we take for granted, sometimes) to war torn civil wars is enormous. It leaves an influence upon the soul that cries out for justice. My poetry and writing reflect that and more.

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