“Restoring beauty from decrepitness
fulfills the heart with treasured happiness.”
_by Poet
Decrepit was a table we once owned,
part of our living room so long ago,
left in the home, my Dad, in time, had sold.
After my Mom had passed, he let it go
with other matching pieces, later sold
by the new owners, barring this one piece
left at the curbside, mixed with other trash.
I saw this, and my heart could find no peace.
Dilapidated, shabby, and decayed
our antique table, which my Mom adored,
was left unguarded in a leaky shed-
abandoned and exposed- so poorly stored.
I placed it in my trunk and drove away
to meet a friend with fine restoring apt.
I knew he'd make it look as good as new;
decrepit to a polished look, adapt.
It soon appeared as I remembered it;
restored into a lovely work of art.
I do embrace it as my mother's gift.
This heirloom has returned to never part.
-And an orange inferno from the street nights, blistering the navy night. Gooey honey and a cracked egg yolk dripping from the sky's tongue. And of course it's raining, ever swam in the rain??
-Is that even a question? On a hot summer's night when the water is cool and the atmosphere warms the rain before it hits your skin. The sky is tumultuous and grey in the most magnificent way, lightning arcing across the cloud's furrowed brows, sending deafening thunder that resonates through your chest.
-You're dark is above you in the sky, mine is here, the shadows on our plane. And they hold me from behind, viciously kissing my neck. The temptation is plump and healthy.
-My dark is all encompassing, but my temptation feigns illness decrepitness. It deceives me to get what it wants
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