The Meadow Rose

Willow and the Makeshift Hearth

When i write

I pour

In postulates

Decrees

I cease

I wallow

I leap

And seep rhythmically to where it takes me

What's natural in gate

in tone

Reflects to me sanctity

I belt out or whisper

It's quite a surprise at times

Not knowing what I'll find till I finish

Writing the rhyme

I can't write when I want to

The way I wish to when I need to

I feel old

Jaded and a bit faded

A survivor of sorts

Left out of sorts

trying to find my footing again

My spring in step

mending the wilted remains

I feel I am trying to dance on a broken toe

It's strange when one drinks a poison willingly

Its logic is amiss

Until I detail the ecstasy and bliss

Then you'd call it a drug

a kiss or an abyss

It started so simple

sudden and strong

the ramparts went wrong and

I find myself a year later

Sullen cold in gentle mourning's company astir

Hello, my old friend

I thought I'd escape you in my heaven

But paradise was short lived

In retrospect I wouldn't change much

I like my memories too much

But goddamn does is hurt

To willow about abandoned from my makeshift hearth

The choice I made I was there

But my feelings don't remember all the time

That a job