Withering winter branches,
Sprawl and drip like cracks,
Bare bark upon the trees,
Behind the rocks in stacks.
-
Shimmering Spring blossoms,
Drape and trace like a shawl,
Alluring for the animals,
Amidst the caw and call.
-
Hollow and still,
Cold and without breath,
Daunting and tall in the air,
Where trickles and mouths are met.
-
The flutter leaves spread,
And fall in summer heat,
Carried away on the heavy stream,
Soothingly washing your feet.
-
After years worth of weeks,
The buds struggle and sprout,
Coming to regale passersby,
Soon to flourish and flout.
-
They stand there still,
As when the stones were placed,
And they'll stand forever after,
We and the stones are displaced.
#HI
About the Creator
Conor Matthews
Writer. Opinions are my own. https://ko-fi.com/conormatthews
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I First Saw Him
When I first saw him sitting on the wall, relaxed and looking out over the water, I was sure he wasn't a local. Not including children, there are only about 250 or 300 of us in this area full-time, though that number is ten-fold in the summer, and I know everyone at least by sight or by family resemblance. And yet, the way he sat looked familiar and started my mind sorting and discarding among the families I knew, not quite like this one, not quite like that one.
By Natalie Wilkinson7 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
This was so deep and beautifully written. Loved your poem!