You let your hands rush by the ivy,
ripping off every leaf you could get them on.
Only to drop them when no longer desired,
broken women, scattered across the lawn.
Fuel the fire residing in me,
feel the flames rushing through my veins.
Through my pain it let me see,
let me break free from these candent chains.
Let my pen rush past the paper,
passionate words penned down with a poetic temper.
Words aspiring for something greater,
to hold them to myself I could never.
A simple, fiery truth.
Rekindling my spirited youth.
No one told me it would last this long,
endlessly throwing logs in to the fire to prevent the end of our song.
Silently responding to them,
without them even knowing they were speaking to you.
Watching their lives go by, as yours stands right there,
patiently waiting for your stories to align.
Find your style and find what lies deep within,
in words that do not necessarily mean what they are perceived as.
Picture the thoughts behind your words the way all that was important has ever been,
another story attached to them in a stranger's eyes.
The song of green and brown,
whispered by the wind through countless branches and leaves.
A touching song sung by many silent hearts,
often perceived as a tender silence.
Captured by nature's beauty and silenced by her song,
moving with the roots as you learn to let yourself go.
Let yourself feel with your lips sealed,
your feet hidden beneath the warm- and cold-coloured leaves.
Leaves that rush by like an everlasting melody of harmony.
Seeking recognition in moments I am not proud of myself,
reassurance of the non-existent.
Stacking insecurities on to a fragile shelf,
just to collapse in to the floor and forget it even went.