The maple tree in front of the blue box,
being stared by wild, weary and wistful eyes of mine,
is the witness to the unknown ease of newly looted freedom,
obtained by causing pain to your golden heart.
Every word, every move made forward into the red, burning maple leaf is like a spade being peirced forward to the pure and generous heart of yours.
This cold freedom numbs me, and the heat in me that once throbbed to...