12-21-2017, 11:18 AM
(Poem not yet titled)
No words to write nor thoughts to sing.
My mind is numbed by the pillows
Of soft pine beneath my unwithered boots.
I bought them six years ago-
Hoped for an excuse to buy a new pair by now, but no.
Needles laying at the base of what was once
Their livelihood. Are they paying homage,
Or perhaps begging at the roots
For one more shot at being?
Simply being, for I don’t really know
What their purpose is in the first place.
Soft pine beneath my unwithered boots…
Time to time, roots interrupt the sensation of floatation,
and the inconsistency makes me sad.
But only for a moment.
Scuffing the sap from the roots of the spruce
Sends scent into the air.
And should my memory go blind,
Nostalgia's nose will let it linger forever-
And for that, I am grateful.
No words to write nor thoughts to sing.
My mind is numbed by the pillows
Of soft pine beneath my unwithered boots.
I bought them six years ago-
Hoped for an excuse to buy a new pair by now, but no.
Needles laying at the base of what was once
Their livelihood. Are they paying homage,
Or perhaps begging at the roots
For one more shot at being?
Simply being, for I don’t really know
What their purpose is in the first place.
Soft pine beneath my unwithered boots…
Time to time, roots interrupt the sensation of floatation,
and the inconsistency makes me sad.
But only for a moment.
Scuffing the sap from the roots of the spruce
Sends scent into the air.
And should my memory go blind,
Nostalgia's nose will let it linger forever-
And for that, I am grateful.