as glistening metal rusts over
and leaves turn yellow and orange
as new does become old and slow
and food delicately decays
you too, will not always have happy days
some will glisten over with the pale blue of ice
and others with the thick vines of envy
yet others will stay boiled with simmered anger
but as metal has a chance of being saved
and leaves, although dead, revive again
as being old is not weakness but wisdom
and food can stopped from decaying
you, too, have a chance to be made anew
so when your time comes, and it will my love
glue the feathers onto your skin
and jump high into the blue sky
as icarus flew and fell
so your rebirth will be iconic
because sometimes you have to brush death
and understand it, and your bad times
for what they really are
to understand,
to enjoy,
and to salvage your rebirth
—hold on, little dove, for your rebirth awaits and you will walk out anew
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YOU ARE READING
pluto | poetry ✓
Poezjathe space station hums with the early morning traffic, the wafting of coffee and fresh croissants filling the air. for the first time, you are not behind your desk, hitting your shins on the weirdly placed piece of metal, but strapping yourself insi...
