comparable to jumping off of cliffs, the raging waves beat against a bony flowerbed, where ideas are planted and where weeds continue to strangle the life out of said ideas.
baby sprouts made a spread palette out of ground left untouched by magic, it was springtime and we were light with the breeze, new beginnings soaking in sunshine and drinking up rainwater; staying strong throughout.
it was always summer. one might almost call it a permanent summer; an aestival eternity. soaking in the appled eyes of sunny, noon-tide at the beach, resting heartbeats on shoulders and settling for a sideways picture, because it is comfortable in a way you could have never imagined.
we cascaded to the ground in leaves of departing green - it started raining one day, and it didn't stop. some sunshowers at the beginning, but they left with the green. the plants still died, and standing watch at the window gave way to no happy surprises. the downpour beat the ground raw and the survival rate plummeted. autumn made sure that the cold had a nest to bury in.
winter was unforgiving. the sun's permanent absence had the moon running circles. there was no longer any precipitation, but no crops would grow. sometimes one would leave plants in the windowpanes, but they would wither like the face they saw every other day.
begging for another springtime left knees bleeding and neck aching, head bent in prayer to something. I asked for the world to dawn, to see the night end. for the drug of a permanent summer to finally subside so that I could plant new flowers.
spring came with light, but not from the sun. it came with smiling worry and reluctancy.
summer's left memories, winter's left scars, so springtime might as well come and stay awhile.
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Don't Try [Poetry]Poetry
a testament to the troubling winds. my poetry doesn't follow any rules. ✨minimal to no cursing✨depression✨hopeless romantic babble✨ proceed with caution. 2018-2019