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Roots

On a western slope,
intertwined like rope,
snake like lovers aroused,
worn from being exposed.

These relics of the past,
loosing their grasp,
as lateral shoots are shed,
like tangled thread, that's dead.

But the tree stands firm,
in it's monolith dream,
from old forest spirits,
of Mother Nature, pristine.

With the dark sages of the forest,
from the top to the lowest,
increase in height,
as you ascend the flight.

Forming wondering staircases,
from their tree trunk bases.

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Last few words: 
Canvas will be posted tomorrow on Istagram under hashtag #trekkerdekker. Another poem from Millcreek ravine and my book "The White Chair".
Editing stage: 

Comments

this one. The flow seems good and the rhyme and near rhyme is great. I followed it well, all the way through. It kind of threw me at the end with the short ending, I guess it's OK, but...

~ Gee.
.

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and compose this
like a sunku
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