Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jul 2011
I know that there are times, seconds, spaces of space even smaller than seconds in which I will decide to leave. I will move my feet and my heart out of reach and I will sit under the moon, begging it to light the way home. away from here, from the sound of the melodies that grew out of the trees in the mind. I know that there are days, pieces of days held together by only the breathes that I take, in which I will decide to rest, to fold my legs underneath me and hunch like Iā€™m peering through a puzzle, and I am. the roadmaps back to my heart are intricate, twisting and winding like oak trees that have seen centuries. With each inch of ground I pass over, the leaves are drier, the soil is filled with cracks, the brooks have been parched for months. I carry a watering can the color of scorched orange peels and keep my Ts crossed in hopes water with trickle out of somewhere, sometime, so I that can grow again.
Ā© wordswithmypulse
HR Beresford
Written by
HR Beresford
Please log in to view and add comments on poems