Then he sang–
Boastfully and resilient, full of certainty–
Offerings in condensate
To morning's ephemeral child.
An oblation of sweet nothings to pine and leaves, white-tipped and heavy-boughed, stirring fickle intent.
Appropriated intent.
Fragile intent.
Breathe–
gasp.
He came bearing
Sleepy gifts for sleepless eyes that
Measure boundless weight by witnessing voracious extension.
He wondered aloud, "What face from nature lasts?
Will droplets tell their mournful secrets? Will they cry out their wistful dreams and tepid tears? Weeping
Sighs and bristled willows hide, but for how long?"
The frosted dew whispered back from sun-kissed frond, caressing ears with gentle winds,
"Until tomorrow."
About the Creator
kp
I am a non-binary, trans-masc writer. I work to dismantle internalized structures of oppression, such as the gender binary, class, and race. My writing is personal but anecdotally points to a larger political picture of systemic injustice.
Comments (4)
Another lovely poem. Well done.
Just Beautiful - Nicely Done!!
Oooo, I learned a new word from you today, oblation. Loved your poem!
How. How do I even begin to express how... ethereal... gentle... honest... this is?