The wind rocks
Back and forth.
I'm a sheet
Catching the gales.
The cold from the north
That melts ice
And blows waves
Across tiny seas.
There is no moon tonight
Only stars.
Me.
And the tire swing.
I'm a baby.
It is my mother's arms.
It sings
A song of morning
Sunrise
Flowers from the earth.
I open my eyes
It is dark. Warm.
Like a womb.
A lullaby
Of new moon nights.
False lunar street lamps.
Empty fields.
I wait.
Author's Note: When I first wrote this, I did not like it very much. I'm generally not a fan of my free verse poems (except Icarus, love you, moth boy). I prefer rhymes and long lines and complexity. Reading this again, though, I like how simple it is. Just a tire swing under the stars. And my inspiration was just that: a tire swing. Nothing more. Hopefully, this poem will continue to grow on me.
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Trillium Beneath the Pines: An Original Poetry Compilation
PoetryA compilation of my poems, many of which explore the cyclical nature of the world: life and death, day and night, and the seasons.
