Late February

This poem is a heartfelt prayer drenched in the promises of dawn.
This poem is a graphite drawing struggling to separate sorrow from the grey.
This poem is passion, a single red leaf resting upon the ground.

Chalk-mouthed,
you step onto the platform as though trying to stitch a hole
in the fabric of subconscious
above the sky
below the ground
but what conjures this dying umber you know not,
this poem is a heartfelt prayer,
let me offer you the world, with its joy, its hidden trail
to heaven 

my entire self because nothing else can satiate this ache and thirst. 

I have milked optimism for all its worth, witnessed the dark
slowly consume the world,
if only I could separate sorrow from the grey 
and fill light
into the missing space,

despite the darker veins of politics, come let us join in the war 
against wrong measures
this poem is a graphite drawing sketched on a winter day.

Upon February’s insistence did I dare to indulge in passion,
allowed the wind to seep into the warmth
of my skin,

I was lost entirely in the process of surviving the savagery
of this world 

until you arrived and offered me your hand,
tell me which lines from my poetry beat inside of you?
I have always preferred shy over the unabashed,

this poem is a single red leaf resting upon the ground.

This poem has offered a prayer.
This poem has begun a battle against wrong measures.
This poem has embraced all that passion has yet to offer.

 

Photo credits: Gondola Stazione Venice by Joseph Zbukvic

Form: Boomerang Metaphors 

Posted on Wordy Thursday with Wild Woman @ Real Toads 

Also posted on open link night @ dVerse Poets Pub