Monday, April 19, 2021

Spring burn

 such a strange Spring

the tulips hold blood on their lips

while robins and larks cry murder

in the evenings the cold folds it hands

to pray throughout the night

the trees open their arms

to litter the streets with pleas

petitions to the far off sun

to burn away this old and

so very renewed injustice

the bare twigs are whipped by the winds

in hope that it will awaken

the sleeping mass with their feet in the ground

their pale oblivion keeps them numb

still so very chilled 

still so very untouched

still so very disconnected from the sun

ready to burn it all away

but the winter white will melt

and the rains will wash 

away those ashes



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