Holy crap, guys, it’s something new.  Or, maybe I should say, “and now, we interrupt your regularly scheduled dinosaur poem hour for…” 🙂

Actually, I’ve got a few new things in the works, but poems come out of me in one of two ways:

1) An idea, or a verse, a theme that needs to be developed, in which the basics come out in a matter of minutes, but it may take me weeks or months of gaining some distance before I’m ready to come at it again and polish it up to make it ready to be seen.

2) They just fall out and are miraculously right on the first try.

This piece falls in the latter camp.  I was doing what we all do when we should be doing other things, but feel utterly unmotivated to do any of them: I was scrolling through my newsfeed on Facebook.  That’s just proof that inspiration comes from strange places, really.

As I was scrolling I came across this article that included all of these pictures of abandoned greenhouses. It struck me how must of them were still incredibly verdant and green, if the constructed aspect had fallen to tatters. That was some really cool imagery, and I could see an easily accessible metaphor there for someone who felt inclined to grab onto it. So, it’s that imagery that inspired this new piece.

The Vestiges of You

When you walk away, things always get messy.

I watch you through broken glass.

I reach out.

Where have you gone?

What was so important that the time you spent shaping me

no longer mattered?

Without you, I become tangled, and things break.

I ask these questions as if I’ve been tamed, when I’ve only been taught,

and the lessons weren’t lasting.

You were only buying time,

and ran out of excuses to barter with.

Now that you’ve gone,

it is only Time that tells me secrets, and only Silence that remembers my name.

In another hundred years, will I still be standing here?

Or, will someone find my bones in the dust

and, for an instant, feel a sense of their own mortality through the history of Us?

I want to see the sun when it isn’t eclipsed by your shoulders.

I want to feel the rain in my hair.

And, if you’re gone, there’s really no longer any reason

to maintain this facade that I don’t.

Without you, I am still growing,

there are still things that I want to do, and feel, and see.

Inch by inch, as the future grows nearer,

the vestiges of you topple over,

shatter,

and fade.

If, someday, someone manages to clamber and claw

through the ruins you’ve left behind you,

the messages etched on my flesh will read,

I don’t need you,

but,

I want you here.’

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