post-storm
The tempest has passed, and now I'm lost.
The tree that grew for so many years in our front yard
has been uprooted,
and lies on its side now,
quiet and unmoving.
I think of all the flames it could give life too and wonder how light
can come from death.
The stars still dance and I heard crickets today,
in the dense leaf-caverns
of the underground cellar. The ice-statues there had no eyes,
but I loved their souls,
and copied them...
and found them wanting.
It's a lovely thing for the heart to be settled:
to have a nest,
a sort of home
for it to rest
in.
Where shadows sooth the glare of the sun,
and night washes away all the dust of morning.
But I hear the wind outside,
and sometimes I wish I could rejoin the tempest,
and dance on the thundering waves again
heedless of danger and death.
But she lies so still beside me, so quiet and lonely;
and I wonder how tears can ever be enough to mourn her passing.
I wish the ice-statues hadn't looked at me today.
YOU ARE READING
Ephemeral Obscurity
Poetry❝I have never been myself as much as I have with you and all these words.❞ A beginner's attempt at poetry, exploring a few different forms and voices while trying to convey loss and beauty. Organized alphabetically, so feel free to read in what...
