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Hanging from my Parachute.
Inside a great Banyan tree
my camouflage suit ~
hides my sight ~ from
a python of the night.
Beauty passes oh so near ~
to this nutmeg grove of fear.
For the warriors of this tribe
the Sun has set long ago
just the Rhythm of the stream
& magic force of dream.
Pastel Angels come to ease my pain ~
How long before they find the wreckage
& rest me in the land of herbs
& children’s smiles ~
The branch is breaking
I’m on the ground
I hear a waterfall ~ sound