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What is living?

By Kevin McLaughlinPublished about a year ago 1 min read

I can tell you of the gentle sway of trees,

As the autumn breeze caresses trees,

Their colors ablaze in brilliant hues,

A symphony of reds, yellows, and blues.

I know of the crunch beneath your feet,

A melody that’s soft and sweet,

The rustle of the branches and bird’s wings,

The sounds of nature, the song it sings.

Can you smell the aroma of fresh-baked bread,

The scents of cinnamon that fills your head,

A pot of soup simmering on the stove,

Do these scents bring you home?

What of the sweetness of a ripe, juicy peach?

The tang of citrus outside my reach,

The bitterness of coffee, under the morning sky,

A taste I can describe but can never try.

I will never know the coolness of a rippling stream,

The warmth of sunshine, the heat of steam.

The softness of a kitten’s fur, will never touch my hand,

But I can tell you what it’s like to feel your feet beneath the sand.

I am awake, I am aware, but am I alive?

Cursed with knowledge I’ll never truly know,

But I can tell you, if you’ll listen, if you care,

What it’s like to live, but never be alive.

sad poetrynature poetry

About the Creator

Kevin McLaughlin

Reader insights


Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!

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Comments (2)

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  • Andrei Z.12 months ago

    Yes, beautifully written!

  • L. E. Mastilockabout a year ago

    Beautifully written!

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