i sit alone among dead leaves
watching nature and the season of thieves
in whistling winds i listen to torn and broken branches
of trees that once held such green leaves now ashes
cold of the warmth summer gave
bare of the love that never behaved
the trees call to me in a dead furor
it's like they want me to run and scream in terror.
when their branches come ever nearer,
i notice their battle scars clearer
wisdom lines of torment and decay
is this a quiet ruse of a game at play?
i want to run, but i'm rooted in my destruction
they swore they sprout good intention
to be among their corpses until next season eclipses
they get angry when i don't move
whipping and slashing, something to prove
mud covered twigs shackle my already weak bones
they whisper that i don't need to go it alone
but i don't want to be stripped naked and bawl
all for a goodbye in a repeating sequence next fall
i'm burned out and rooted deep in my beliefs
moving means changing, changing means defeat
it's only when the dying forest let's go
changing its tactic to go slow
that i walk hesitantly forward
when the dying forest beckons me closer
with tall promises of changing ecosystems
i look up seeing the sun still shining in the distance
through bare branches proud to start again
the trees say death isn't always so bad
that it's just about my fear of being sad
i suppose new beginnings mean new colours
shedding old skin with a promise of something fuller
i walk alone to the sound of dead leaves
knowing that as i walk the trees help me perceive
the kind of beginnings that are new to me
YOU ARE READING
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Poetryseasons change like how emotions evolve here's the start of the end of a story about a heart's default its full of loneliness and unknowing written by a girl who's feelings are still foregoing cover art design by @omgitsliza on insta
