Wistful Declarations

My Little Collection

I am, I was, I will be

I am a car tire, screeching across the spiky gravel, spinning at rapid speeds with the force of the axel.

I am a flower petal floating on the clouds in the sky, softly falling and landing on the rough grains of the salty sand that lines the beach.

I am a tall tree with brown and orange leaves forever swaying softly in the breeze.

I am a domino tile watching and waiting until I am pinned down.

I am the grass with bright green blades, reaching for the sky.

I was once a spring leaf blooming my colours of green and gold, until the cold seeped in and I fell to the earth: dry, dead and colourless.

I was once an empty dam, cracking and splitting open at the seams, until the clouds took pity on me and cried, filling me up, until I was full of life and could be filled no more.

I was once a blank canvas waiting my turn in line, until she beckoned me to her and filed me with colours and inspiration, and then bursting with joy, I became a masterpiece.

I was once and deserted isle, until magic happened and they seized the moment, and walked down upon me. Sealing the deal with a righteous kiss, then I was magic too.

I was once and lonely and empty book until a brainy old man plucked me from the shelf and dusted me off, grabbed his favourite biro and filled me with life, joy and happy memories.

I will become a wet, soggy sponge, when I am submerged in the water, as I begin to absorb every last trace of the liquid.

I will be an empty basin when the old man pulls the plug and the liquid spirals softly down into the drain.

I will be a full bottle when the heat grows thirsty and absorbs all traces of water.

I will be a happy flea when the dog grows tired of my undisturbed presence.

I will be a soggy and snotty tissue when the cold seeps in and germs spread.