weathered
or mangled?
wisdom paints your mahogany stretches
your limbs once branched out
a tender sort of hesitance
embracing the world ahead
yet there is evidence
your arms retracted
shocked by a world too harsh
horrors and whirlpools too vivid to recount
even if this bark could be reconfigured to paper.
those once cleansing waters, unforgiving.
however,
it is through this journey
that one has come to call you art
while others tirelessly question,
is this art?
would it be too bold
to assume
that the ideas and concepts
this has all given birth to
is
the art.
- driftwood in christianity and the arts
YOU ARE READING
ruby
Poetrypoems about the next stage of my life, hopefully about new experiences but also about hanging onto something the heart has desperately longed for and isn't quite ready to give up
