Bountiful Harvest
This is the time when the sun
Descends below the horizon—the ground
Is cool, dry, hearty and beautiful with
Thick golden hairs—of all distant things
Is the time of ripeness—the ground I
Know crumbles away, I am swept off my
Feet from the side, scythed, robbed of time
To grow and flourish—the sun is tucked
Away below my eyes.
Choke
In an underworld I scan and
Taste the remains of a lost Eden
Enveloped in emerald and cerulean tresses
I fall asleep in a champagne sea.
About the Author
Jaleesa Vickers has been with The kNOw since 2006 and graduated from high school in 2008. When she's not busy talking to people from around the world online, she enjoys writing short stories, doing theatrical makeup, learning languages and making art. Her greatest success came in 2011 when her art piece was chosen to represent the Above the Influence campaign on billboards throughout California's central valley. She has a love for alternative rock, j-pop, j-rock, and has dreams of becoming a makeup artist.
