A mystery
Delight in all that grows and thrives
Souls connecting for a brief respite
Bile of envy
a layer of mold on food that overstayed its time
Something once good now poisonous - what you're better off without
Sunlight woven between the leaves
Wrinkled faces etched into the bark
Moss inviting for a short sleep
(no promise of letting you get up)
Primordial dread as the sky gets dark
Inside rustles, whispers of wind, I can hear a spell
"Welcome, but beware.
Are you lost yet? Who can tell?"
Words sharp with threat tempt me instead
To stay and let go of everything vile
And of the world that waits outside
But my own face, pink from air bites
Betrays what I wish to forgo and hide.
I don't belong, I am not them. This is not my home
The woods saved me, regrew a heart that once felt gone
But it still lives through blood that is red
My human nature in every cell cannot be denied
The only way I'll become green is when it is dead.
I wave goodbye to each its rich shade
To seek something buried deep inside
What I've needed - what is truly mine.
About the Creator
Kat S. Tobias
27, she/her
Welcome, anyone who stumbled across this page. Enjoy your stay :)
Writing has always been my preferred method of making sense of myself, the world, life in general. I share it so it can resonate with other people, hopefully.
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More stories from Kat S. Tobias and writers in Poets and other communities.
Red Shelves
Death is a black hole. Think about it. A black hole is the corpse of a star, something once warm and bright, now come to the end of its life cycle. But some will argue that the cycle of life does not end with death. That death is merely another path we must walk once our bodies expire and our souls ascend. In that moment, when the fuel in the star’s chemical tank hits empty and the shiny matte coat explodes into supernova, the mass left behind – the corpse – becomes a black hole. We understand that, around such a vast cadaver, dimensions work a little differently in death to the way we’re used to in life. For example, light cannot escape the pull of a black hole when it hits the point of no return. That’s where it gets its colour. Space itself is contorted by a black hole. That’s where it gets its funny shape. Even time. Time slows right down the closer you get to it. The closer you get to a black hole. The closer you get to death.
By Matthew Curtis7 days ago in Humans
Comments (1)
The consonance and assonance across the line-ending words! So euphonious!