My vista has left.
It got up and walked away,
taking its burgeoning poetry
and florets of blush
just beyond the hill-
where I last see a wrinkle
in the day.
Perhaps, it will sail away
and live at sea, content in knowing
that final curtains are best
without remorse. Every green patch
a relic of what was bewitching for me.
Tossed by storms in darkness,
with no one to notice.
Cowed in heat and sun.
Awoken in grey mists
that cling and impede
Maybe, one day it will land aground
after years adrift. Someone will see
and write words that begin a scene anew.
The beauty of the vista, adorned
with yearning – causes me to run
with all abandon
to meet the last wrinkle
of the day.
It is National Poetry Writing Month. I’ve participated in the past, but I don’t think I will this year – time will not allow me a post every day. I’ve been on a bit of a down-turn lately with inspiration for writing and experiencing my own emotional lows. This poem conveys a little of that struggle, the loss of “vision” – though I’m not sure I’m totally happy with it. I share it anyway, as a work in progress, because writing is something I must continue to do.
I don’t know why, I just do. I hope readers will continue to read.
All the best.