Disruptions of Grace;
I'm left foraging the Forests of Doubt—
Was that red-wine bite really so
Luscious, like the life I hoped to lead?
I am
falling
with the sun.
My hair is full of leaves
Still gilded
With the Garden's golden murmurings,
Cool water in my ears—
I will return,
Resurfacing skies
Un-drown my depths.
My frosted skin shivers off
The night splinters.
Stars edge off my eyes,
Melt as tear-like, I dew,
Distill.
The apple was the only choice.
I am sustained—
Wholesome.
Consumed by sustenance,
We are one and the same.
*I wrote this poem back in 2007. Still not entirely sure where I was going with it; I think I meant that even though the ruthlessness of mortality can leave one spiraling into depression at times, life is still worth enjoying and finding purpose in despite the pain.
YOU ARE READING
Prickmedainty Poetry
PoetryFor all those who broke their glass slipper and still search for stars in the shards.
