Apr 2012
There was only silence and a gentle breeze that caressed my hair and the slightly insubstantial ghostly figure that followed me but never tried to talk to me but just followed and looked, with a stare...
It was cold, it was dark in the middle of the day as the sun beat down through the thick trees and chased the shadows away while I traveled down the cracked and broken path and passed old Mrs Wilson 1827 ~ 1868 (almost ancient in those days)
It was Mr Wilson's heartbreak in the words of How Do I Live Without You? carved in stone that told me I was almost there
There you were, under the weeping willow tree.
I wasn’t sure how prophetic it was and I could never be sure if it wept for you, or for me.
The ground was brittle beneath my leaden feet but it never disguised each and every heart beat. It grew green beneath my head as I lay down and slowly wept my daily tears that seemed to be fed straight into the ground.
I always noticed the gray of the stones, the black of the night, the brown of the leaves and it always felt right.
I scented the death mixed with the hope of the lives left behind and I always noted the inexplicable sorrow of words carved in stone that were written to remind...
But I never once before noticed the butterflies
Today I did because they were everywhere.
They sat upon stone monuments that breathed in with sorrow and the butterflies seemed to care. They flitted inside the darkness to light the path home and glittered in the dappled sunlight that spilled between the branches and sparked happiness while they did idyllically roam.
It was the one that landed on my cheek as I stared into nothing and got it’s tiny feet trapped in my river of sorrow and sat quietly, eyes focused on mine, it’s emerald wings beating slowly back and forth and reminded me of a churning tide that would undulate with all of my tomorrow then sat still and watched me with a calmness that took my breath away and whispered inside my head...
Why do you live in yesterday?
I’m sorry my memories of you keep me tied to the past
and I feel the need to want to hold onto you
to make you more real and make more of everything last
I get it now and I promise I will try...
*Thank you for the butterfly...
It was cold, it was dark in the middle of the day as the sun beat down through the thick trees and chased the shadows away while I traveled down the cracked and broken path and passed old Mrs Wilson 1827 ~ 1868 (almost ancient in those days)
It was Mr Wilson's heartbreak in the words of How Do I Live Without You? carved in stone that told me I was almost there
There you were, under the weeping willow tree.
I wasn’t sure how prophetic it was and I could never be sure if it wept for you, or for me.
The ground was brittle beneath my leaden feet but it never disguised each and every heart beat. It grew green beneath my head as I lay down and slowly wept my daily tears that seemed to be fed straight into the ground.
I always noticed the gray of the stones, the black of the night, the brown of the leaves and it always felt right.
I scented the death mixed with the hope of the lives left behind and I always noted the inexplicable sorrow of words carved in stone that were written to remind...
But I never once before noticed the butterflies
Today I did because they were everywhere.
They sat upon stone monuments that breathed in with sorrow and the butterflies seemed to care. They flitted inside the darkness to light the path home and glittered in the dappled sunlight that spilled between the branches and sparked happiness while they did idyllically roam.
It was the one that landed on my cheek as I stared into nothing and got it’s tiny feet trapped in my river of sorrow and sat quietly, eyes focused on mine, it’s emerald wings beating slowly back and forth and reminded me of a churning tide that would undulate with all of my tomorrow then sat still and watched me with a calmness that took my breath away and whispered inside my head...
Why do you live in yesterday?
I’m sorry my memories of you keep me tied to the past
and I feel the need to want to hold onto you
to make you more real and make more of everything last
I get it now and I promise I will try...
*Thank you for the butterfly...
an oldie... thinking of someone special tonight :(
