time waits for no one, so why do i wait for her?
concrete
giant clouds of wool freckle a metallic sky.
a new snow drops silently in tuffs of cotton,
while trees show off their nakedness proudly -
wearing the soft white like a fine fur coat.
their splendor is so concrete.
a young girl stands before it all,
hoping to capture the beauty behind a lens.
taking photos of the few remaining leaves
still clinging tight, and discolored from cold -
they’ve soaked to a dying orange.
she snaps the picture…
the tiny tuffs of white hang suspended
in mid-motion around a tasteful maple.
leaves of fading tone tremble amongst low branches
just above a rotted headstone -
eroded and cracked with weather.
(hardly worth the money spent)
weeds left to snake around sections
of stone fence still standing -
running like patchwork across the wooded backdrop.
parts and pieces completely perished -
replaced by vines that vein out,
and strangle themselves to be known.
their nakedness seems ugly.
washed out letters do their best
to carry out their design,
but legibility ends after lies.
and the rest is just forgotten.
nothing is concrete forever.
i've come to the conclusion that i need someone to share things like this with. someone that wants to share things me. a person that i can write for, that writes for me. someone to talk to when there's nothing left. someone to end silence. a complicated person, rich with personality. and i just came to this like 30 seconds ago. and now ten seconds after, i've realized i'm dreaming again.
giant clouds of wool freckle a metallic sky.
a new snow drops silently in tuffs of cotton,
while trees show off their nakedness proudly -
wearing the soft white like a fine fur coat.
their splendor is so concrete.
a young girl stands before it all,
hoping to capture the beauty behind a lens.
taking photos of the few remaining leaves
still clinging tight, and discolored from cold -
they’ve soaked to a dying orange.
she snaps the picture…
the tiny tuffs of white hang suspended
in mid-motion around a tasteful maple.
leaves of fading tone tremble amongst low branches
just above a rotted headstone -
eroded and cracked with weather.
(hardly worth the money spent)
weeds left to snake around sections
of stone fence still standing -
running like patchwork across the wooded backdrop.
parts and pieces completely perished -
replaced by vines that vein out,
and strangle themselves to be known.
their nakedness seems ugly.
washed out letters do their best
to carry out their design,
but legibility ends after lies.
and the rest is just forgotten.
nothing is concrete forever.
i've come to the conclusion that i need someone to share things like this with. someone that wants to share things me. a person that i can write for, that writes for me. someone to talk to when there's nothing left. someone to end silence. a complicated person, rich with personality. and i just came to this like 30 seconds ago. and now ten seconds after, i've realized i'm dreaming again.