melissaahowells
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there's a wounded branch on a leafless tree I can see it dangling hanging down outside my balcony I don't know how that branch hangs on with all this rain and the pulling wind's moaning song how does it continue to hang there by the thinnest of shreds the branch itself nearly blackened nearly dead (does any one really care) near the break is a faint small spot of green and one must keenly look before it is seen I know that wounded branch its surely me black crows scavenge near my window every day I feed them nuts tiny bits of seed which sometimes the crows fail to find so then the bits burrow and decay often I too have felt lost like that too much that buried way how do these crows continue, thrive while so few I see merely try to survive is there some lesson they could teach me so I won't have to think on those decaying seeds growing into worry weeds sometimes bits of my life don't flourish or fail to sprout and grow I'd like to be able to focus on the better things and have more to show from the parts of my life that make up me sometimes I need help to persevere to succeed and see so that my blacker thoughts remain at bay or can begin to slow if only I could know just long enough so I can begin better to sow some of those bluer skies and grasp at the yet un-realized and not just the gruff of harder times not be that wounded branch blue menu: Legal Copyright November 20, 2016/ 7:11 am PST for this poem/work, by this author/writer Melissa Ann Howells/Meloo straight from her legal copyright site: Tilt-a-World reedited December 2, 2016 5:09 am PST Vote for this poem |
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