A soft glow in place of soured exists;
fresh yellow lost,
almost hidden in the background—
I am wanted
against better judgement, under the canopy of clouds
by the side of waves of walnut waters.
I, the blossom tree am the epitome of your bittersweet knowledge;
my dark sodden limbs
with the sins of earlier decades.
then cover my veins with dust—
living in twilight isn’t half as bad as one oblivious of the truth of dawn.
In the end we are left with parables.
Photo credits: Pinterest
Skylover Wordlist: Parables 💝
I chose the myth of “The Blossom Tree.” Read here
Posted for Play It Again @ Real Toads