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Rated: E · Poetry · Nature · #2292163
A poem of dreams and missing someone.
Methuselah / Green Man

I have stood in this margin for aeons
It seems
Bore witness to Cassiopeia cutting spirals from the night
All this time
Time, an oilstone, to the blade of my life
Sharpening, yet diminishing the very fabric of me
And I return, in sparks and shards to the earth
I see thee, on a circadian basis
Bright as the meteor that slashed night's fragile dome
Leaving open mouths and corrupted hearts in your wake
Leaving my 2B pencil shattered in a pool of imposter syndrome
Leaving ...

Anyway ...

I stand in this margin for aeons to come
It seems
Jupiter yawns with a storm and gathers it's sadness in satellites
Methuselah, the great oak, grew from tender sapling
Protected on my lee side, in my shadow
I watched it's centuries collapse by the will of the east wind
All in a blink of my lichen covered eyes
My partner in crime, fallen, torn
Half a millennium to decay and I wonder for countless seasons
"When is my time to fall to my knees?"

Awakened ...

The dream slips through my fingers like dry sand
It seems
My open window showing me the salmon pink dawn
Which swallows, slowly, the bewildered stars
Blinking my eyes and loosening lichen
I am left floundering, a near drowned man
Reeling from Green Man visions, poppy seed dream
I need autumn's cool kiss now,
Standing in the margin once more, barefoot, mist
Taking root,
For what feels like my last day in this old world
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