TO BETTER DAYS

Take me away to better days. To where the sun casts its bright rays. Let the breeze ruffle through the leaves. Better days for me, pretty please.

 

Take me away to better days,

To where the sun casts its bright rays.

Let the breeze ruffle through the leaves.

Better days for me, pretty please.

 

Advertisements

THE GREEN

 

The green hides inside

With unspoken pride.

It comes at night,

Growing in might.

A fine mist falls first

As trees drink from thirst.

They swallow the green whole

By forming a deep hole.

As the fairies alight on leaves,

I need out of here, pretty please.

 

 

THE DICTATES OF OLD MAN WINTER

flowersgardenlove:

 

The epic battle of the seasons.

Old Man Winter 

erase all signs of Fall.

Snow covers the ground.

Tree limbs hang low dripping white.

Fall holds her branches

close to her body.

Some have already fallen.

The lone casualties of war.

The battle rages on.

Fall will have to succumb

to the dictates of Old Man Winter.

She has no choice.

She puts up a valiant battle.

She will be back after Summer

finishes heating the earth.

She bows her head.

DUST IN THE WIND

 

I’m alone

Beneath a tree

In a garden.

No sounds

But birds chirping.

The smell of grass

in the warm air.

What is that sound?

The wind rustling the leaves.

Beautiful.

Relaxing.

Perfect.

The sun retreats.

 

Footsteps draw near.

Too dark to see who it is.

It can’t be.

I’m now dust in the wind.

THE FALLEN

 

Sherbrooke Forest | By Penny Whetton

 

 

The trees have been hurt,

Scarred by the recent storm.

Their leaves have fallen,

Fallen soldiers of nature’s war.

Without a proper burial,

No one will mourn for them.

New leaves will soon sprout

And take their place.

The cycle will continue

Through time and space.

ALONE IN A CEMETERY

cemetery shadows

ALONE IN A CEMETERY

The mist paints a grey.

Hissing winds sound fey.

The trees sway in tune

Under the blue moon.

With long robes, they sweep toward me.

Darker shadows they cannot be.

A statue looms in the distance.

I cannot offer resistance.

An angel turns her face to me.

A wicked grin for all to see.

Her white wings spread wide.

Time for me to hide.

THE LAST TREE STANDING

I face the wind.
Each day I wait.
Time passes.
I wait for the world to change.
People come and go.
I hear sounds of trees falling
and cries of animals dying.
The rolling hills are replaced by buildings,
monstrous symbols to mankind.
Fewer trees dot...

 

 

I face the wind.

Each day I wait.

Time passes.

I wait for the world to change.

People come and go.

I hear sounds of trees falling

and cries of animals dying.

The rolling hills are replaced by buildings,

monstrous symbols to mankind.

Fewer trees dot the naked landscape.

Dirty water fills the lakes and ocean.

Mankind has changed the world

in irreversible ways.

Stop before it’s too late.

I refuse to be the last tree standing.