Maybe we can't forget feelings
As they are known to us
Like old leaves of the trees, unfading
Into the autumn dust
And when the new ones sprout
With new beauty and season
The golden shadow of the old, shrouds
New possibilities in false reason.
As if the definitions have been
With iron set in stone
And the new ink keeps disappearing
Leaving the old, unfinished and alone.
Now when the golden tree stands
Alone in the field of snow
The blessings of the green that can
Save him, it doesn't even know.
Jun 2, 2018
Jun 2, 2018 at 3:41 AM UTC
Maybe we can't forget feelings
As they are known to us
Like old leaves of the trees, unfading
Into the autumn dust
And when the new ones sprout
With new beauty and season
The golden shadow of the old, shrouds
New possibilities in false reason.
As if the definitions have been
With iron set in stone
And the new ink keeps disappearing
Leaving the old, unfinished and alone.
Now when the golden tree stands
Alone in the field of snow
The blessings of the green that can
Save him, it doesn't even know.
Request permission to use this poem