Written in a dark time. It's not random, I swear. It has meaning, but the meaning isn't going to jump out at you and slap you in the face. If it does, I apologize.
The marbles I so carefully placed in a row
have scattered.
They fall to the floor, then split to pieces.
A shard rips through my bare foot
Opening a wound from a time
When color drained from leaves.
I looked to the leaves full of hope,
Believing they would cling to the branch longer,
Until the last one fell.
I cursed the pallid sky
And resisted the frigid air,
But a wind swept me from my bed
And tossed me to a place I'd been before.
A place of fear
A place of rejection
A place I once called home.
Now the fields are green once again;
The forests teeming with life.
Still, a wind takes me to that place of desolation
Now and again,
And I wait until the tide pulls me in, drowns me,
And I'm spit back onto dry land.
My spirit is chaffed and worn from repetition.
How many times must I die to
Convince myself to accept life?
