The Tower.
Change is happening like a tornado in the summer, uprooting my being.
Although it was predicted and beckoned
I feel a sense of regret at wanting it as petals scatter the tarmac.
The devil.
The forbidden fruit of desires clings to my back as I work,
Although I have a path I can't see in front of me to know what to do now.
I'm scared.
Judgement.
As I'm uprooted my sense of self shatters into dust like the soil that scatters my limbs.
What if the end is not what it seems and I'm left clinging to air.
The chariot.
Despite this a lost, dull echo of perseverance rattles through my bones.
There is still some drive left in my soul to keep going for now.
Like a warrior at the end of battle I fight.
Temperance.
The calm before the storm is returning again like the summer sun after spring.
A bittersweet relief, a lonely smile warming our aching bodies.
The world.
The satisfying conclusion of success is still flickering at the end of the bay, not green but yellow. Hope is still calling my name as we reach the end.
28.5.16
ESTÁS LEYENDO
Paintbox
PoetryPoems from the inner corners of my brain, under my nails and the end of my paintbrush.
