![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
First, I'd like to thank those few people who sent comments--your words made me feel better!
Unfortunately, right now I'm back in the "life sucks" mood. I wrote these two poems during school--one yesterday, one today. It makes me feel better to get this out on paper, and to type it out, so I wanted to share these with you, too.
As If I Don't Know
The willow bends in the strong breeze
When her bark is darkly stained with sickness;
When her core is soft and rotted from termites;
And when the hurricane is undeniable,
She longs to be firm once more--strong,
Roots dug deep to soak in the soil's richness--
To drink of earth and steady stream:
But a heated fury, a drought,
Bearing dried brush and thus, fire,
Has left the soil leached of goodness;
It has stranded her by a dry riverbed:
The willow has always had drooping branches--
Wild vines wound 'round her trunk--
Her leaves, never quite turgid from water,
Are now blackened with the rest of her--
The sweeping, roaring flames,
Tongues of treachery, of betrayal--in her home!--
Have left nothing in their wake--
Just a sooty wasteland, standed amid flourishing forest:
She knew the wildfire was coming,
Even as she dug her roots deep and sought the sun,
Her base--her ground--crumbling beneath,
Falling into an empty river--
And still, her grip on the soil can't quite break--
How can she give up her hope for spring rains?
What else is there, but the promise of summer?--
She cannot give up the thoughts of spring,
For they are her life--they are her prayers,
After the burning wildfire ripped through--
Destruction with scorched seedlings...
Sometimes she wonders how birds fly;
She's certan she will always fall.
So, that's the first one, from yesterday. Today, I came up with this:
When her bark is darkly stained with sickness;
When her core is soft and rotted from termites;
And when the hurricane is undeniable,
She longs to be firm once more--strong,
Roots dug deep to soak in the soil's richness--
To drink of earth and steady stream:
But a heated fury, a drought,
Bearing dried brush and thus, fire,
Has left the soil leached of goodness;
It has stranded her by a dry riverbed:
The willow has always had drooping branches--
Wild vines wound 'round her trunk--
Her leaves, never quite turgid from water,
Are now blackened with the rest of her--
The sweeping, roaring flames,
Tongues of treachery, of betrayal--in her home!--
Have left nothing in their wake--
Just a sooty wasteland, standed amid flourishing forest:
She knew the wildfire was coming,
Even as she dug her roots deep and sought the sun,
Her base--her ground--crumbling beneath,
Falling into an empty river--
And still, her grip on the soil can't quite break--
How can she give up her hope for spring rains?
What else is there, but the promise of summer?--
She cannot give up the thoughts of spring,
For they are her life--they are her prayers,
After the burning wildfire ripped through--
Destruction with scorched seedlings...
Sometimes she wonders how birds fly;
She's certan she will always fall.
So, that's the first one, from yesterday. Today, I came up with this:
Rationalization
With a quiet fall to the branch below,
A parrot digs her claws deep:
A stubborn grip from a flashy, vivid bird,
Her feathers are thinned with familiarity;
They enclose her thin body with layers
Of spindle fibers and wiry muscles:
The crimson, ocean, grass, sun;
Every tropical rainbow shade stands out
Among the darker, deeper forest:
From the mirror sky drifts a second parrot,
A falling leaf, sinking to perch on the branch,
Her grip is stubborn strong, but brittle--
Like her new companion, all too eager
To let go of her comfortable grip--
Her downy wings of dark ocean,
And lighter sky tracing lines with clouds:
Subtle is she, yet solid and there--
They are both free to soar, unrooted,
More likely to fly rather than stalk the earth,
For parrots are not made
To live with the willow, in the forest,
As they both are there, yet cannot at one 'tick...tock':
The trees cannot support their weight--
It's why they fly--
As they're springboards for the birds to lead off,
And so, with merely a flutter, just two,
Tropical birds spiral
Into mirror-ocean, dimmer blue
Not a glance behind.
This one kind of built off the last poem, since both mention the willow and I was thinking of the same subject as I wrote them. Anyway, angst aside, I think that this helped me calm down some, and work through a bit of emotion.
Either way, I'm still a bit bitter and unhappy, but I guess that's just life, now, isn't it? :)
Thanks for reading!
Hearts and hugs, guys. :D
A parrot digs her claws deep:
A stubborn grip from a flashy, vivid bird,
Her feathers are thinned with familiarity;
They enclose her thin body with layers
Of spindle fibers and wiry muscles:
The crimson, ocean, grass, sun;
Every tropical rainbow shade stands out
Among the darker, deeper forest:
From the mirror sky drifts a second parrot,
A falling leaf, sinking to perch on the branch,
Her grip is stubborn strong, but brittle--
Like her new companion, all too eager
To let go of her comfortable grip--
Her downy wings of dark ocean,
And lighter sky tracing lines with clouds:
Subtle is she, yet solid and there--
They are both free to soar, unrooted,
More likely to fly rather than stalk the earth,
For parrots are not made
To live with the willow, in the forest,
As they both are there, yet cannot at one 'tick...tock':
The trees cannot support their weight--
It's why they fly--
As they're springboards for the birds to lead off,
And so, with merely a flutter, just two,
Tropical birds spiral
Into mirror-ocean, dimmer blue
Not a glance behind.
This one kind of built off the last poem, since both mention the willow and I was thinking of the same subject as I wrote them. Anyway, angst aside, I think that this helped me calm down some, and work through a bit of emotion.
Either way, I'm still a bit bitter and unhappy, but I guess that's just life, now, isn't it? :)
Thanks for reading!
Hearts and hugs, guys. :D
depressed