(no subject)

[darkblues1974]

poem (2/12)

such a day
to run through a door
a little dead bush
turned brown and hard

I remember when you
were green
and the tree above you was
still there

I am the straw that
waves with the wind
next to you
some of me is dead too

lying heaped and broken
in the dry cold
at least you can stand
in the sun that shines gold

there's a peice of plastic
stuck to you
I'm trying to tickle you, I think
but we are crispy and old

my pointly little fuzzy
straw hands are reaching
up to the sky and waving
in silent faded plant prayer

waiting for someone to come
and clean up all the trash
so one day we might both
be green again