melissaahowells
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the world
in unspoken quiet lies its breath seems stolen in its place the distance is perceived and still it grows as we stand rooted in our space the birds deftly calibrate the sky they're out of reach and far away clouds rain copiously upon people trudging down below they shuffle along ghost-stepping through their days the colors of the world are not gone somehow they stubbornly presist a growing hush surrounds us, ecchoes and rebounds as our lives mechanically attempt to move along while free-floating time seems to sleep and drift the colors of the flowers attempt to speak the language of a renewing spring but their words no longer understood, the beauty of them almost fails to exist... a bracing wind blows their petals away... yet still their blooms bob and bow moving together in colored waves in the growing breeze their fragile beauty fails to thrill the spingtime message of joy faltering as if diseased intrepid now is their up-rooted dance of once fragrant lilacs and golden daffodils. LEGAL COPYRIGHT FOR THIS POE 8:37PM PST 3/26/2020 AND ALSO FOR THIS LEGALLY COPYRIGHTED WRITER MELISSA A. HOWELLS, AND ALSO FRO THIS LEGALLY COPYRIGHTED SITE TITLE: MELOO STRAIGHT FROM HER TILT-A-WORLD Vote for this poem |
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