there's a bunch of trees. they ebb and sway in the wind, like the rising and falling of a gentle chest.
one of them is flowering. she seems almost magical, glowing under the golden light. she shines in her blossoms of white and pink. i could look at her forever.
the tree next to her has leaves that are almost lime. growing healthy, not a bad tree at all, but i wonder if she ever feels overshadowed. if only she and her ever so perfect and beautiful flowers weren't so flawless like she's pushing them in your face. she knows she's gorgeous, that she's the best. she doesn't need to flaunt it to know you know it too.
the bare tree beside them looks at them both longingly. if only she didn't compare her rich and passionate leaves to her soothing petals. she overlooks her own beauty just because there's always someone better to look to. and he's just survived the longest winter - battered and bruised, left without any green or white - just in a quiet brown screaming to be left alone and unseen. i hope he remembers his spring - he was wonderous and stunning in yellow and blue. and that wasn't the furthest he'll go and the last time he'll revel in the light. the next spring is soon approaching - i hope he knows it.
the golden light is fading away, and i must go. the spotlight on her is disappearing, and she smiles. she was amazing tonight, as always. her petals are not gleaming any longer. she knows this is not her last dance, and the curtains of the sky fall on her wistful expression.
YOU ARE READING
gold-tinted glasses
Poetrythe sky spills open and the flowers gleam gold, and looking up at the sunlight i see it all written clear as day in the trees a diary romanticising coming of age, relationships, heartbreak and love again
