I think softly of the wasteland.
I swear I do, I do.
I've held the earth in my arms
When it was only new.
It falls apart and crumbles,
Right there, under my skin
For me to cherish with all my heart
Until I let you in.
There is a deeper longing
Lodged far behind my heart.
It slowly pulls away at the threads of me,
As if to tear me apart.
It's thrum is gentle but insistent.
Ever-present, it must be.
It's thrum is truly, softly
Lulling me away to sea.
If I must away
Now and forever more,
Let me go with armor
And dress lavishly without scorn.
My haughtiness is my downfall,
My temper my disgrace,
But would you let a poor, old bird
Hobble away from your place?
No, you are the better of us two,
So yielding you must be.
And though I utter no gratitude,
Richer still is you not me.
I think softly of the wasteland.
I know, I do, I do.
I've ached for the earth in my arms
To hold when it was new.
Older I might be yet,
And farther from my goals
But glad I am to find distance
From that pained, old soul.
YOU ARE READING
As Tears Filled Up my Eyes
PuisiA collection of original poetry strung together. Each chapter is a single poem that can stand alone and does not need to be read in any particular order to be understood.
