There's a part of us all,
which slowly wilts away.
A chunk, however big or small,
that impacts us in the same way.
It festers on its own,
like spoilt fruit,
and demands to be known,
while we keep mute.
Toxic are its fingers
that spread into the new,
like a dying leaf that lingers
on a lonely Salvia so blue.
We wither with it—medicated.
Allow it to feast—
now it's cultivated.
We are gone to the beast...
O! It's a hell we go through,
running from our fears,
our pasts, and the shrew.
How we wish to turn the years,
but none of that we can do.
So, turn around; it's the day
to tell this perishing part
we won't let it take us away,
and prohibit its blight from our minds, our hearts.
And it is somewhere in this mess,
that we've grown, we've changed.
Copyright © 2015 Caasie Cabral-Pereira
All rights reserved.
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Ramblings
PoetryA collection of notes, poetry and other rambles that have no place to go... **I have a new pocket sketchbook, where I write short phrases along with a sketch. The phrases will be posted in here as well.**
