Let the strings play out
Let them break and fray
Let the grass grow wild
The uncut hair of our graves
When this life becomes thin
With all these two dimensional things
Our shells will crack all around and let the light in
So we can see
And we are seen sometimes
By those whose shells are cracked
Whose leaves have fallen
Leaving them bare
We can leave these paper lives behind
Become who we are
Or who we're not
Life is not fair
But we long for this world to care
And our strings play out
Or they break, snap, fracture, separate
We the grass are separate yet the same
We see and we hear
But we do not fully understand
There are so many mysteries
We will try to play out the right strings
But everything ends
Except the future
Our imaginings will fail
But we do not fail to imagine
For the future keeps us alive
Even if we don't welcome it
We will live on too
As the uncut hair of graves
Even though we die
We live on through our souls
Our memories will grow once more
And though eternity may daunt us
Our strings will play out
Even if they're cut short
And their remnants fray
We are not as fragile as we thought
There is strength when there is no hope
There is a soul when there is no mind
We may have once been paper
But now our shells are cracked
We let in light and we shine out
There is no hiding
But there is freedom
And we can pick up the pieces
Make the new structure stronger
Or leave it be...
And wonder
But when we wonder no more
We can always say
We live on
As the uncut hair of graves
We are the grass
And we will grow.
YOU ARE READING
Poems (collection 1.0)
Poetryplease don't read this (i laugh here, but i'm not joking). this is a relic. consider this the museum of my progression in writing. you can find the better (marginally) stuff from this one in "Poems (collection 2.0)". Thoughtful, often sad, and angr...
