The twisted sent of the laden grass
Weighted heavily by voices past
A smell so dense that it could sing
A flood of memories the grass would bring
There sits upon it a frosted dew
Of lofty chatter from the breaths it drew
If only the soil could undo what was done
If only the voices could merge into one
Only then would the soft, wistful breeze
Sing it's own melody as it pleased
Oh but how we may never come to know
When or how that grass will grow
The trees, much like linen ember,
Ache in melancholy as they remember
The decades when the laden grass
Weren't as heavy as days past
The sun would caress the silky blades
In the quiet meadow kissed with age
Oh how settled the grass came to be
Barely bristling against the ember tree
Now it's sharp silk whips the wind
The melody of the breeze having been skinned
Bleached now are the exposed bones
Revealing what was once hidden, making it known
The green blades thrash and tear at the sky
Thousands of voices refusing to die
No longer is the frosted dew
And no longer is the person that you once knew
YOU ARE READING
A Collection of Thoughts
PoetryA collection of mostly free verse poems and short stories. Sometimes it is nice to simply clear your head. *Trigger warnings: descriptions of disturbing themes such as: body horror, death, interactions with the uncanny, topics in biology, and suici...
