Delicate

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.