The sky is blue
the wind blows cold
i sit and rock
with you, grow old

hear me out
heal me in
his tongue seems good
his mouth seems bad
have feelings
had meanings
hush the fuzz
hum the buzz
heat my cold heart
hit it until it hurts

xo

the present world
can pull you back in time -
sometimes a gentle pull,
sometimes a hard yank
to remind you of the past.

you take a trip
to meet your past self.
you watch her love,
grow, make mistakes -
she and you are one.

then you take a deep breath,
whispering a farewell
to your past self.
you walk through time,
returning to the present.

What happens to the peach when June
rolling like a playful child,
succumbs July?
Have we reached the bottom
of the hill?

Or do we roll onward, yellowing to brown?
Riper but never sweeter—-
Bruises from the fall bring with them
new hues

Amid the thundering exterior of redemption, and the pulsing currents encompassing repossession, I find something more gentle inside recovery.
A faint radiance, of which resembles an immersion amongst the tenderness of learning how, once again, to bloom.

I spectate a sharp face,
once capable of temptation,
shift to an eerie expression,
In the afterglow of a flame
I can no longer cultivate.

always a tear
falls
drawn toward the earth

for what is crying,
if not growing