July 25, 2016


The leaves begin to fall

and lay frozen on the ground
in heaps of brown and gray.

Feet crush them flat,
shatter their hard, rigid forms,
destroy their delicate beauty.

Harsh sunlight falls
and hollow winds blow
through the ruins of an ancient garden
where I find you
musing to yourself amongst the stone.

The walls have been cracked and broken
from weather and the harshness of the world.
The once-green garden is now just a memory
strewn amidst the ragweed
and the shapeless, dilapidated archways.
But your wide, unblemished eyes
still see the beauty here,
or seek it out despite its absence.

I worry about you, my dear.
Won’t you build yourself a wall,
harder than stone,
where you can protect your secrets
and guard your wild passion?
Or will you display your beautiful weakness
for the world to see,
and destroy
out of thoughtlessness or malice?
Or would the wall itself destroy you,
crush your beauty into dust?
Perhaps only you know how to face the world,
secure in your delicate strength.

No comments:

Post a Comment