From a table, the day wilts
beneath a freshly pulled chair,
its roots left behind pale presented.

a sense of lost composure
cannot arrange into anything
worth straightening up, not instantly,
but buddy, give it time.

Surprizing it seems
to transfer these stems to the sink,
with reminders that yesterday
everything sat well enough,
when winter covered less than a chair,
and spring sat briefly,
chatted sunshine matters; it does.
____________________

Matt, this is totally awesome
and so beautifully penned...
A glorious piece of grand talent...
Beautiful and bravo...

I may as well quote the whole piece... image




 photo TwilightMVP_zps76944d59.png
 

 "Every man is guilty of all the good he did not do."


Last Edited By: Twilight Myst Mar 17 08 8:22 PM. Edited 1 times.