...
You said we were crimson autumn leaves,
Better than those blushing roses-
Now I'm a shivering crumpled mess,
Trodden by your rain boots.
You said I thought too much
Like a cloud that rumbles,
when all it need is a cry,
So now I'm floating on the surface of the Dead Sea,
Guessing if I was better off in the sky.
You said all you treasured was to be that grass,
For people to comfortably lie on, rely on.
But now I see how seasonal is the grass' solace.
So lush and green in the summer daydream,
So pale in the fall, on verge of dying and living.
Like us, on the undecipherable periphery
Of being intentionally nonchalant but justifiably brittle,
to the bruising barbs and sinking ground.
So here I am, lying here for the last time,
In search of the comforting mirage, I'd once felt,
Only to wake up to the same scorching sun of reality.
And here I am, in the winter, where feelings fuel my fireplace
And a Christmas is sacrificed on the crucifix of courage.
Here I am on the new year, trying to melt the frozen time,
But letting the snow bury those footprints on the earth.
Oh why am I here again, on my birthday, reeling,
Hanging in the same loop of delusion
from a barbed nightmarish noose.
Only to finally feel the jasmine creep up,
brightening that dull dull night -
Only find a serendipitous sensibility
towards my nest on the oak,
My selfless staunch support,
In those blaring thunders, blazing sands
Raging blizzards, and drowning rains.
And now, here I am, dangling my feet on a branch,
As I witness spring's homecoming,
and the grass growing green, changing its colour once more.
And now singing to the rustling canopy of leaves,
I hear an apologetic elegy,
the sorry spring melody.
How very pitiful a summer
For I know better of this short lived fever,
One that disappears in the wake of November.
Oh the perfect, soft, green green grass,
what a hoax in front of those real, rugged evergreens!
...
Please VOTE and COMMENT !
I have kinda tried to improve myself in this one, paying attention to the words I used :))
Love ❤️
Feronia ♥️
YOU ARE READING
Cottage Chronicles
PoetryLife's chronicles from love, sorrow, anger, guilt, shame, happiness buried in a poetic cipher. Would you like some words and wine, on wooden floorboards? ©️ Feronia Grey
