Where are you
when the winter goes
and the springtime comes
with daffodils and dandelions
And the evergreen knows
Why the ivy keeps crying?
Cracking tree trunks
and the dry, dead castle
of molding bark and rotting leaves
While the branches whisper secrets
of little green crab-apples
and helicopter seeds
pebbles under the bridge
over a dehydrated creek
on rusty pipes and cement chunks
harbor ghosts of memory
what could have been
and what used to be
Those creaky swings
we used to ride on
and those silly songs
we used to sing
If we closed our eyes,
we used to pretend
we could almost fly,
but not quite
Imaginary friends
never characters
shredded and recycled
by pain, bitterness, pride, hate
And betrayal
Now fibers floating away
Like dandelion seeds in the wind.
but those seeds take root . . .
and reach down deep
no matter how much you weed
they grow back.
So do I
every time you see a dandelion..........
YOU ARE READING
The Art of Confusion
PoetryDiana Miller is schizophrenic...or at least she thinks so. She has never been clinically diagnosed because her father believes that mental illness is demon possession, and she knows he would never take her to a psychiatrist. To cope with her inner c...
