Words

I’ve been busy weaving words onto cloth

to make a cloak I can wear into dark forests

to whisper poetry at the Moon

and make her fall in love with me

and sit amongst the branches of trees

rustling the wind with my language

and falling bump bump bump onto the ground

to find metaphors shaking around me

and shoving at my shoulders insistently

because the world can tremble itself into rubble

and no one will notice because you can stitch things together with just your mind and your fingertips and all of it will be entirely yours.

 

The world looks so bleak from where I stand.

She’s blurred and shifted into something the galaxies are probably shuddering from.

The Moon hails her because she has to, and the rest of the universe stands by to watch,

hands folded behind their backs, lips curled back wondering how we managed to destroy each other so very well.

 

These poems are from a woman who is like the seasons. Lindsey.. I hope you enjoyed them….  🙂

 

 

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