Maybe it was the hazy Sunday morning bliss or the cicadas screaming their annoying lullaby but I found myself drawn to the woods. Streams of blue and green water and muddy paths that lead me back to sanity every time I come through.
My past has kept me locked in city streets with too many people and too many memories. My present holds a sympathetic and nostalgic view for the things I love but also a craving for something vast and beyond.
As for my future if they ask me today I might just head to the woods and never leave. I’ll become one with the moss on the trees and the mushrooms in the ground. I’ll be the composure for the cicadas and the paint for the sunsets and sunrises.
Tonight we will dream of the right path to the New York life and the city dreams but tomorrow we’ll find the left path holds the cure to the soul in the trees.
There as I sat it spoke to me, this wall of asymmetric cracks. Its faded, soaked cement remained. Its light red bricks answered back. Past these chips of aged white the blue sky hung with wispy cloud. A distant bird with creeping weeds through ancient windows spoke aloud. Here light enfolds these steps of prayer where new fresh grass is listening. The hedges kept with varied plants in waving breezes are glistening. This ruined wall tells its story of faded asymmetric glory.
iii. He reminds you that you may never be loved In the way that you are supposed to His heart opens as it should A halved pomegranate And the jewel flesh spills forward In effortless bounty
Yours was wrapped in butcher paper With care, long ago It lives in the freezer In the way, way back Ice crystals form slowly Until they resemble a silver blanket of moss
"Cavetown wrote a song about your ex and we played it all summer long" pt 3. This poem isn't about what you think it is, but I don't think that that matters so much. The feeling is the same at its core, even if the circumstances are not.
I press my ear against her soft bark, Damp and darkened by the cloud’s tears. I hear an echo that envelopes my mind- A familiar voice, without a face or a name- she is a vibration, she is a feeling. Looking up, i watch her branches split the sky like an earth quake shattering the heavens. Spanish moss drips down like solidified rain drops, frozen in time. I sit upon her roots and dig my barren feet into the cool dirt Amongst the acorns and shedding of her hair. My nose is met with an earthly scent- a reminder to breathe. This old tree watches lifetimes pass as the sun descends below the Earth, the moon rises into the ether, the stars wink at sleeping flowers, and the planets watch us dream. I stay beside her until twilight cloaks the sky. This old tree wears wisdom like a silken robe, So beautiful in every crack and crevice of her body. I count the stars with her until numbers turn to the sounds of beetle’s banter. We all laugh together, And fall asleep in the embrace of existence
I could tell you that I tip toe across the cold wet stones, Careful with every movement, But I’m not. I’m unsteady, Unsteady as the current rushing beneath me against the slippery rocks. I could tell you that I’m dainty, Soft spoken and polite, But I’m not. I’m brazen, I’m honest, I’m emotional. I’m clumsy and I don’t have good balance on the moss beneath me in the water. I crack under pressure, I’m an anxiety filled vessel. I hate to be the rain on your sunny day, But baby I’m sorry, I’m nothing but the girl who fell into the rushing waters below.