Two score before my parents wed my father held the branches of three trees:
Peach, Apricot, Loquat; their sapping cylinders fresh leaking of life,
With his knife bore them holes together, and bound them with leftover string.
They grew entangled like the knots of unkept ambition, their fruition
Was never compromised by their scars. Here we are
Slack by our tendons, held together barely by bark
But you and I know the best part about broken branches.
They must grow back.
Poem 55 Edited – Poem 55 Original
It has been brought to my attention that people are actually looking at the blog. Thanks guys. I hate blogging as much as you hate reading crappy blogs, so thanks for sticking around… On a more important note there is one person I’m flattered to say printed out my poem and showed it at a very important event that I could not attend… so thank you!! I hope I can meet you someday!!
This one’s for Grammy!!
upon forgetting all salutations, there is this
lacking nothing knowing nothing; i lack and know my heart.
be still flicking match-fingers and well worn toe-less shoes
it was the bruise that lasted eternal not the fall… after all…
we fall in love with the past over and over before we realize
seasons have matured…
cured. of all redemption, the rise
and fall of sunlight is finally free to symbolize nothing but itself.
two score before my parents wed my father held the branches of three
trees: apricot, peach, loquat; their sapping cylinders fresh-leaking of life,
with his knife bore them holes together, and bound them with left-over string.
they grew entangled, like the knots of unkept ambition, their fruition
was never compromised by their scars. Here we are. Walking around
like we might be some fallen trees, but you and i know the best part about
broken branches: they must grow back.
Poem 55 Revised – Poem 55 Edited