The wind that blows
The sound that they make,
the sound that's peculiar,
the sound is also an indication,
rains are here to stay.
It's a lull before the storm
The storm arrives,
followed by rain
Rains are here to stay.
As of now it's raining since a long time now
Just before a few minutes reached home sound and safe
In nick of time everything changed
Rains are here to stay.
I've decided that my resolution for turning 22 will be to chill out.
Everyone tells me that when they see me out in public I look angry or stressed.
And ya know what?
They're probably not wrong.
I am so stupidly anxious and I worry about things that haven't even happened yet.
I want to learn to let it go, or
just wait and see what happens.
I want to learn to say yes instead of always saying no.
And when I am out in public or where ever I need to let myself feel whatever I'm feeling; but do it in private.
Go to a restroom or stay in the car and just let it the fuck it out,
because I will always be anxious and crazy but I have to stop letting it control me.
I claim to be such a nice person but I'm not anymore.
I'm really just not ME anymore and I haven't been for a long time.
I want to figure out who the hell Paige is.
Tell my father (if you can find him)
that I, too, have died; tell him that I am dead, and
if I say, all paths have led to this place,
to this avenue where the olives grow,
let him know that I found some comfort there,
where the cherry spread its boughs and
lemons ripened in winter sun…
So, when that final day is done, beyond any
exact hour or minute, say, I stayed on and watched
as my old sol dipped, and that old moon rose
as yellow as that fruit’s faithless amrita. O bitter,
sour is the flavour of the mortal earth,
even as the red-kissed sky paints it not,
even as the slivered moon waits
and watches for its ghosts to disinter,
yet, from the winter’s cold no spectres stir:
they have no cure for that fatal cut,
no moment to revisit the drawing night.
But, I might not surrender, old man. If I may,
let me linger here beneath the opened arms
of heaven’s gate…
And wait… as shadows shudder beneath,
imitating forms that once stood here
in the glade where the sun still shone and would
not admit to anything other than a cycle:
as though returning was as natural
as this spinning orb.
While this whetted winter draws about, without
a warm hand to guide a laden pen, let me
begin and say again, ‘Tell my father that I am dead!’
Tell him, that I cut the lemon from the tree before
it was ripe, and I sucked hard on nectar tart until
I’d drained its heart, then spat its pithy skin upon
the road. Tell him, I walked the avenue and heard
the black fruit crack beneath my impatient tread.
Say, I made some notes along this way,
and I left them sheltered beneath the olives’ spread
where, if he has the time, he can read
perpend the thoughts that I was disinclined to speak.
you were just a seed
I planted, expecting only a flower
but then you provided me a garden
you were so beautiful
but I must not pull you out
for your stem will droop
and your petals will die
so I watered you with care
handled you till you bloomed
ever so lovely—
till it was too much for me to bear
your roots, I ought to pull out
but you've been struck deep
into the surface of my skin
later suffocating me with your vines,
wrapping around my chest
so I will just wait for summer to pass
for then like the autumn leaves I fall
and these feelings will run dry
till it is too cold for you to grow
into the winter's unbearable ground
Spring is coming here real soon,
but the snow it came here late,
for the tiny buds in early boon,
it's a shame they'll have to wait,
Confusing is the forecast,
so some may never bloom,
as a crystal blanket now lasts,
and the skies are colored gloom,
covered still in white- all glassed,
an still such dangers loom,
Yet as the waiting blossoms urge,
I see a hopeful lil little sprout,
I see a poking head- up serge,
relieving me of any doubt,
As the Winter Snowdrops splurge,
an the tallest one to shout,
"get up and grow"
"I mean c'mon
c'mon you must know-
it's our time to let it out!"
"C'mon Winter Aconite,
Robin Williams said?"
"Spring is Nature's way
of saying let's party!!!"
So come on then,
let's go up now an make
a lovely little bed,
they'll be plenty time to sleep again,
when we are all so slyly,
Ma Cherie © 2017