Hey everyone! I wrote this poem a while ago for my aunt’s art opening, and as I am short on time today, I figured I’d post it!
The milky reflection of the winter scape receded
as the first strands of pinkish sunbeams for the year
broke over the mountainside, waking the robins,
and the orioles and the bluebirds, for duty,
like the waking calls of a mother at dawn,
ushering her tired children in for breakfast
before the long day of school. And those birds in turn
woke their siblings the bees, and the foxes;
the otters, and the bears, until the whole valley was filled
with the happy cries of birds and beasts alike.
Those are the kind of days that I long for when I wake,
caught somewhere between the light of fantasy
and the dirt-stained grit of reality. Days where spring
breaks into the infectious rhythms of lovemaking,
while the hate, prejudice, and torment of modern life
take a pause for the trees to breathe a sigh of fresh air.
But now, looking through these dusty old windows,
I realize that summer is setting in quicker than it ever has
and that this lovely spring was wasted
in the minuscule confines of an office cubicle.
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