A celebration of life turns toward the inevitable fade, where joy and decay meet in the same breath. Harry Capezzolo captures the brief glory of blooming and the grace in letting go. Read it now on Written Tales, and submit your own stories that unearth what lies beneath the surface.
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I would drink, and sing, and bask in the glory of the day as the bright sun shines so my heart would sway to march alongside the dogwood blooms and stand as tall as the tree that looms my branches would reach me to the sky as a wing if only to be free. Then, as they, wither I must. For in the dance of decay, we have been thrust known only as they who have been lost to the glory of man we bound no ring yet a collar we wear tied by a string loose enough to let us hang from the branches of ourselves as a bared fang. A woe from those who came afore with words of envy we were told to adore a silk so smooth it must be worn by all who seek the moons hallowed glow the price was meek, only our soul yet it was not ours to keep, but natures to sow and now we hang you with us another prisoner taken without a fuss we shall wither away as all things must.
✍️ About the Authors
Harold Capezollo III, born in a small town in Southeast Asia to Mack Cappezollo and Freeda Golewinger on August 6th, 1945. Harold spent much of his youth enjoying nature.
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