The river begins to fall
as I wrap myself
in a blanket
of childhood fables
that speak of
fragments
of missable splendor
when Mother Nature
would fiddle
with the earth
and play
a sonata.
The oxide earth vapours, the vernal air trembles
A dirty white sky overhangs in your glasses
Viridian green tints the water, it shambles
The exuberant stems of the lilies and grasses
Like women with oars punt in David Brayne's pictures
My senses are floating through waters in bloom
No exaggerations in landscape are featured
No lyrical effects, but seasonal gloom
Filled with presentiment of evidential
I thought to smile, but in fact, didn't dare
In swinging of oars there is something essential
And something is missable, as if you care.
So deep and profound agonizing at times
rude feelings hurt to the core bring forth emotions
and wonder of one hundred degrees of separation
distance kept in order to keep the peace within self
time to cut the cord and be set free to breath fresh clean air
rid of bad toxic feelings not spared hurting words thrown in the mix
of hurtful things to say pertaining to one's emotional frame of mind
words not carefully chosen can come across hurtful and regretful
so deep so close to home where once was off limits when matters of the heart are involved not communicating in a respective way
deep personal scars are the hardest to make amends for they cut you down to the core with no remorse or regrets to strong of a bond to be easily broken hard to repair when blindsided spectator's outsiders cheering
maliciously to a degree of separation blood sucking vengeful no life
cheering jealousy missable beings time to part ways and connect with positive strong energy out of the dark night into the light of day
with nothing more to do or say but part ways