Gold-Bottled Green and Brown

*A post after a very long time!*

This person trudged on through leaves,
Towering guard-of-honour trees,
Swivelling green and rust-brown,
But she doesn’t care.

Everything’s a
Landscape, the
Cracked brick path, hanging lamps,
Other vague distant shifting shapes
And shadows, maybe there
To comfort her, to torment her;
To empathize, to criticize;
A lent shoulder, an icy glare;      

They do matter. She searches,
Painstakingly, through those unfeeling eyes,
Through the blending, ebbing mass
Of dark matter, the hope of finding someone different
Throbbing softly within her.

She knows, all too well,
That complete release of herself
To another, like the tree
Letting go of the once-glorious green,
Now withered, lifeless parts within her.
Chance, of burning pain,
Of relentless days of rain,
After carefully spilling that

That they would not grasp it.
Not cradle the fragile leaf
Hold it dear
No. What if they toyed with it,
Throwing it to the
Swirling wind, to an
Anonymous fate?

This girl, trudging on through leaves,
Shadowy tomb-still trees,
Shifting brown and rust-green,
Knows they do not care.


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