You don’t carry a sickle into a flower garden.
How can I talk to you?
You do not know heartache;
You know loss,
… I’ll give you that.
Life is but an hour;
Today be far from glower.
As a song is rarely heard,
When a lonely bird.
Embers falling high…
Above snow-burned branches
Branches; dry of the last dew,
Once kissed by an October morning
Embers floating with a whisper
Of life, of warmth…
Embers the color of autumn,
Holding only a flash of beauty.
But, carrying everything with it.
Yesterday, I broke.
Resembling the last piece of lead crystal,
Crashing to the kitchen floor.
Searching for the last shard,
I have yet to find.
I may still be broken,
But eventually, I will find myself.
Muddling through the moment,
Like the wrong shoes, on a rainy day.
And looking for a way out.
With one pant leg up,
And the other foot…
I reach the sky to touch the sun,
Only to grow and bend to you again.
My roots were as close as my branches,
When I began.
And, only you know me as well as I.
Oh, so lucky am I to caress and kiss you once more.
For not only have you given me life,
But the opportunity to thank you for it.
Shut down and faraway,
I raised my blood-shot eyes and respired;
Closed them tight and retired.
Graveyard trees and branches lay,
Amongst those loved, and lost – in the fray.
The grand oak, stands tall and hovers,
Above the babe and long-lost mothers.
The gingko holds fast and truly remembers,
The love that left too soon back three Decembers.
The maple, the messenger, whispers of reminisce.
The smell of happiness, albeit in distance.
Though you see them guard and shade,
It is their roots that embrace every man and maid.