Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
we walked into deep into the woods and came upon a circle of tall birches the smooth silver trunks marked with initials of lovers long forgotten who once swore their love would last and thought to immortalise it in the silver wood of the birch trees where the white bark had peeled away he ran he fingers carefully up and down their slender trunks feeling each little slash and ridge though barely visible on their thin bark then i flicked open my pocket knife to carve our own initials into the wood like the many young lovers before us but as the blade touched the wood he whispered to me quietly "these trees are marked by pale faded scars like on smooth slender arms their long delicate branches are like slim white fingers desperately reaching up to heaven begging for another chance and with help from the angels their scars are slowly healing" and again he ran his fingers over their trunks to feel the white bark then ran his fingers gently over the pale skin of my scarred arms and then my love, my angel pressed his lips to each slash and scar as if trying to heal what had been done so I put away my blade deciding that my love for him would last forever longer than the bark of the birch trees and longer than an old scars -sg
0
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 12:57 AM UTC
Old Scars
we walked into deep into the woods and came upon a circle of tall birches the smooth silver trunks marked with initials of lovers long forgotten who once swore their love would last and thought to immortalise it in the silver wood of the birch trees where the white bark had peeled away he ran he fingers carefully up and down their slender trunks feeling each little slash and ridge though barely visible on their thin bark then i flicked open my pocket knife to carve our own initials into the wood like the many young lovers before us but as the blade touched the wood he whispered to me quietly "these trees are marked by pale faded scars like on smooth slender arms their long delicate branches are like slim white fingers desperately reaching up to heaven begging for another chance and with help from the angels their scars are slowly healing" and again he ran his fingers over their trunks to feel the white bark then ran his fingers gently over the pale skin of my scarred arms and then my love, my angel pressed his lips to each slash and scar as if trying to heal what had been done so I put away my blade deciding that my love for him would last forever longer than the bark of the birch trees and longer than an old scars -sg
deliciae
Written by
American
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 12:57 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem