We’re instructed to fight the hands of time-
Wrinkles and silver are societal crimes...
Don’t you dare look your age,
Look to us for the gauge-
We’ll let you know what is prime.
About the Creator
Kristen Balyeat
Words fly to me on the wind, bump into me as I'm strolling the city, splash me in the face while I rest by the river, and shake me awake in the middle of the night—I’m humbly one of the vessels they use to come to life.
Also, i love you:)
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More stories from Kristen Balyeat and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Dryads are Calling
They say the forest by Phoenix River sings. Perhaps it is just the wind howling through the leaves, or a particular birdsong. But Percy Fisher knows better; he knows what lies in those woods, and he knows that the forest sings of his demise.
By Leigh Hooperabout 18 hours ago in Fiction
Comments (2)
The poem is straightforward and accessible in style.💝💖💓
Great poem! I love how it shows that aging isn't exactly something we can control, but society as a large almost treats it as such.. discrimination because of something that cannot be controlled is ridiculous. Great poem