Abandoned nests line withered trunks
Covered harshly, by the snow,
Obstructing a view that might have been present
A very long time ago.
Unnatural sources, lights abound
Within vestige, sunken hills,
Depressed over time, reduced, confined
To the border of glass I see them through.
Since when did I count minutes
Among the passing of lights and life?
Since when did the color green hold power
Over joy, and what I write?
How long it must have been
That I have forgotten words
Used to describe it,
Or that they would remember me
Being a fragile faith;
Since when did I stop caring
If it meant much to either,
Or if they made it safely home?
I'll miss you, as thread does the loom,
Anxious to be spun,
Keeping watch over the treeline
I know you won't peer through again.
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Author:
Nicholas Browning (
Offline) - Published: April 23rd, 2024 18:30
- Comment from author about the poem: Just another example of why I don't like writing poems about people that I know.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 6
Offline)
Comments2
Excellent.
Good write N.
There's a joke:' Since when was [insert name of comedian] funny?!' lol.
And since when did anyone laugh at my corny jokes?!
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