When you awake in the morning,
everything is the same.
The white flowers are still white flowers,
and the grass is still green.
You're monsters are still as mean as they've ever been.
And no solace comes from that,
I know.
I've felt it,
but I try not to let it show.
So,
what to do?
I'm going to take you dear,
by the morning sun.
A garden is where,
I'm pulling you.
Though you can't get close,
pull in closer.
Give in to your monsters.
And you and I,
we'll dig up the beating red beast that is your heart.
And if it's empty,
please don't tear it apart.
I'll fill it, fill it full,
with a million murmurs translated onto paper.
You can look at them more closely later.
Tuck it in your pocket,
right next to where half of mine lies.
And let go of loneliness,
as we lay in the grass,
and become part of our own wilderness.
*The flowers grew through their eyes and it was beautiful, as flowers tend to be.
© Amara Pendergraft 2013