Oh, but I am so very much more
than a collection of pretty words.
I’m tear stained and crumpled poetry;
stirring, profound, rubbish, absurd.
I’m tranquil shades of arcadian blue,
a hawk soaring over wide open skies;
demure and charcoal grey backdrops,
and storms raging from swollen eyes.
I am the stench of decayed, rotting earth
and the fertile soil for next years blooms.
I am a golden, shining city on the hill,
all its dark alleys and forgotten rooms.
Endless galaxies and infinite light;
nothing more than a grain of sand.
I’m gritted teeth and a clenched fist,
an open heart, and outstretched hand.
© Cristen Writes
Image by Yana Istoshina