dedicated to the lovely angel
poetadventurer
thank you so much! you've astounded me
and managed to move me past my lack of motivation.
i thank you.
/.SUMMER
sunny days, apple juice trickling down
chins, sticky amber pin aged alight
with golden sun as closed eyes
bathe in summer sunlight, the darkness
beneath a mottled orange yellow black.
sunny days, when bones ache for sun
when captured by cooling shade, and
yet brain and skin for once agree, too
much, too much, go away. but bone
song sings to sweet, too well, and to
the suns embraces skin, brain, bone
return .
/.AUTUMN
side eyes and sky winks, deadly grins
are flashed as teens gather at the edge of
the night, scarves blowing along with
the fall breeze. time is precious, but
time does not know them and they do
not know time.
long roads and railway tracks, leading to
somewhere, leading to nowhere, the youth
don't care. running along the rustic paths,
they follow the stars and coat the night
with made up stories and adventure. their
bodies were curled leaves that crackled
with thunder and they would sound the
night. do you hear them?
/.WINTER
crumpled bodies, old eyes, old souls,
they remember how the snow felt along
their skin, how it stung and stung but
the pain was so sweet, how not once
did they regret hastily thrown on
jackets that were never fully zipped
as they dived into mounds of fluttering
ice. no regrets, and no worries ever
haunted them then.
now they see the memories of their
past selves and while navy does not
settle in their skin, pain twinges
behind wrinkles, how they forgot
of time and how precious it was,
how they forgot that the gnarled
winter trees were not a forever
king of thing.
/.SPRING
so the cycle begins again, or ends,
but who really cares? we watch
flowers bloom as birds begin to rise,
we feel the cold in our bones begin
to thaw and the ice in embedded in
the cracks of our brain spill out,
silver liquid gracing streams
of coming spring.
time has come again, and
it will continue to come, cycling
through twinkling eyes, deadly
grins, and crow feet wrinkles,
it will come, but don't hold it
precious and forget to follow
that railway, it leads to
nowhere, it leads to somewhere.
— follow the rustic metal, underneath the cover of the circling stars
YOU ARE READING
SUN SETTING
Poetryit was at that time of ruin, that the stars rose from their graves. skytaints | all rights reserved ©
