Winter is approaching, finally
Brutal sun, I miss you already
I can take the fire of creation, not so much the leaking of the heavens
I'm thinking up spirits for items
Goddess of tea cups
Keeper of pens, the instruments of expulsion
God of gardens and forests
Saints of all normal things, eyes cast over daily
Unseeing their fullest glory
I'm singing songs to self, that I'd promised to scream external
Throw at the world
But in the opening to Autumn
Slowly, petting the ego and the fearful body
I'm blooming in the rain
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Author:
MessyHead (
Offline) - Published: October 25th, 2023 02:35
- Comment from author about the poem: Change has been relentless A new idea appears in mind, for what feels like the thousandth time In tired, saddening joy I create again
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 6
Offline)
Comments1
Very well crafted.
Much appreciated
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