Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
prestonPoems
# *From the sodden, trundled forest floor the trees reached higher than he ever imagined possible-- pine needles from the conif, blending in  perfectly with those, broadleaf.. a strange, almost absurd-feeling; symmetry- in a world, nothing more than cluttered and confused--            in the eyes of a small-one, now subject.. And now as a grown man, I return to the disenchanted forest..        in order to bring enchantment. At the edge of the rustic, one-room cabin, I pause.. choosing to peer in, rather than enter-- my world-hardened hands,  now pressed against cracked window glass-- opaque, but still..            I can see.. Inside the small room is as if a cosmo to itself-- there is a large ring of dark water, surrounding what seems to me to be a small island,      yet still, I can feel her..              sense her glow.. And magnificent   within her solitude and silence.. she is strong, and firm-- her war-torn heart, gathered and secure.. all boundaries, seemingly intact--         but there is a teeming..         a never-ending movement         of some form of life- ..in what I had once thought a ring of dark water, but can now see as if some kind of a fear-hewn moat.. and the movement within, none other than that            of those trying to reach her. She is the prize, pulled away from the threat of harm        by her intricately created world. And there is this black movement above her..    what is that?   Moving in rhythmic synchronization..              like a flock of starlings maybe.. The wings that give them flight, are bat-like and sharp.. and only varying sections at a time  of the flock's movement alight on to her.. as other ones take flight and rejoin the ever-moving,           ever-shifting flock's shape.. ..and as each changing of the guard takes place, the inhabitants of the moat change color--   the light, now reflecting through the small window and bringing a matching glow to my arm.. And though I remain unaffected by the color of light, I see the whole nature of the moat, conform to each color's change.. And it is then that I realize that the birds  are the pieces of her fragmented heart, and the changing colors,  her perceived reality.. based on whatever portions of her heart are inside of her at any given time. The moat provides the distance, yet one without its inhabitants even knowing they are in it-- changing color in order to fit in to               her ever-changing reality. I will never enter into the moat.. and the color change is hers, not mine. I am more distant to her now than even those, of the moat.. and my refusal to change color will always be a point of contention-- but for her, I am the only one who sees, I am the only one who knows about the island, the starlings.. the moat. She loves me so much, she hates me. My prayer for her is that one day, that whole flock of starlings will alight on to her..       and never, ever leave. Maybe on that day also, her moat filled with Mona Lisas and Madhatters,  will finally, dry up.. and that her color perception   will become  the colors that truly are,             rather than those, of her ever-changing, shift A disenchanted forest--  enchanted, once again.* #
0
May 4, 2020
May 4, 2020 at 10:48 AM UTC
on starlings, islands.. and the navigation of moats
# *From the sodden, trundled forest floor the trees reached higher than he ever imagined possible-- pine needles from the conif, blending in  perfectly with those, broadleaf.. a strange, almost absurd-feeling; symmetry- in a world, nothing more than cluttered and confused--            in the eyes of a small-one, now subject.. And now as a grown man, I return to the disenchanted forest..        in order to bring enchantment. At the edge of the rustic, one-room cabin, I pause.. choosing to peer in, rather than enter-- my world-hardened hands,  now pressed against cracked window glass-- opaque, but still..            I can see.. Inside the small room is as if a cosmo to itself-- there is a large ring of dark water, surrounding what seems to me to be a small island,      yet still, I can feel her..              sense her glow.. And magnificent   within her solitude and silence.. she is strong, and firm-- her war-torn heart, gathered and secure.. all boundaries, seemingly intact--         but there is a teeming..         a never-ending movement         of some form of life- ..in what I had once thought a ring of dark water, but can now see as if some kind of a fear-hewn moat.. and the movement within, none other than that            of those trying to reach her. She is the prize, pulled away from the threat of harm        by her intricately created world. And there is this black movement above her..    what is that?   Moving in rhythmic synchronization..              like a flock of starlings maybe.. The wings that give them flight, are bat-like and sharp.. and only varying sections at a time  of the flock's movement alight on to her.. as other ones take flight and rejoin the ever-moving,           ever-shifting flock's shape.. ..and as each changing of the guard takes place, the inhabitants of the moat change color--   the light, now reflecting through the small window and bringing a matching glow to my arm.. And though I remain unaffected by the color of light, I see the whole nature of the moat, conform to each color's change.. And it is then that I realize that the birds  are the pieces of her fragmented heart, and the changing colors,  her perceived reality.. based on whatever portions of her heart are inside of her at any given time. The moat provides the distance, yet one without its inhabitants even knowing they are in it-- changing color in order to fit in to               her ever-changing reality. I will never enter into the moat.. and the color change is hers, not mine. I am more distant to her now than even those, of the moat.. and my refusal to change color will always be a point of contention-- but for her, I am the only one who sees, I am the only one who knows about the island, the starlings.. the moat. She loves me so much, she hates me. My prayer for her is that one day, that whole flock of starlings will alight on to her..       and never, ever leave. Maybe on that day also, her moat filled with Mona Lisas and Madhatters,  will finally, dry up.. and that her color perception   will become  the colors that truly are,             rather than those, of her ever-changing, shift A disenchanted forest--  enchanted, once again.* #
as she quietly whispers into my ear.. "Until you've seen this trash can dream come true you stand at the edge while people run you through, ..and I thank the lord, there's people out there like you" https://youtu.be/OthHVnG9EKg xox
#love#childhoodtrauma#moats#starlings#closeness#distance
preston
Written by
preston
May 4, 2020
May 4, 2020 at 10:48 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem