Flower petals arrive upon the door step,
ushered in by a tantalizing breeze.
How crisp and delicate they have become,
riding the years upon an endless whim…
They refuse.
Soft-bodied hard-shelled creatures
have traced the story across their veins,
but nothing gives.
Pretty but forgotten, they dryly multiply…
Not refuse.
Yesterday was exacting in its promise
to be everything that it could be.
Capable of merely lying prone,
the sun set before the day was done.
One refuses.
A tree clasps the shoulder of a grassy knoll,
attempting to bring up a painful topic:
Where were you and why did you go?
It is probably better that I do not know.
I refuse.
No comments:
Post a Comment