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Witchvox Chapter: Local Poetry
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VxPoem ID: 43530
Posted: February 13th. 2013 6:43:06 PM
by Vivienne Valentine
Age Group: Adult
My hands are pale, bloodless from reaching up,
bird boned and soft of finger,
trembling with the strain.
Always up, mustn't let them fall.
The petals -
overblown and falling,
and still I can't reach, can't speak.
I can't sleep.
What is the future?
A new flower?
Same seed, same sun, same thorns.
The seasons spin so slowly,
the gate is closed.
I touch its spiky skirts and I bleed.
I prefer it.
Better blood than rain to feed the roots.
Better part of me than the truth.
Always up, mustn't let them fall,
though I know I'll never reach.
I will never speak a word.
The seeds, its eyes, know me, hold me.
Petals or wings, beak or thorn,
everything flies away in the fall.
Every lie was a truth in the dirt,
was a shoot of green,
was a tall tree,
was a bird after all.
Author's Location: San Marcos, California
More Poems: Vivienne Valentine has posted 82 additional poems- View them?
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