Marshy cattails gaze at passers by
Reaching tall from green and gold
Cornstalks tickle clouded skies
Asphalt trail winds among the living
Trees branching across the span
Aching limbs long for more
Embracing spirits with leafy hands
Struggling to maintain her dayshine glory
Beams of fire throb from sinking sun
Hot horizon gulps her downward
Swallowing daylight with a thirsty hum
Sullen sunflowers drop their heads
Bending low, long past their prime
Each sunset marking a gallant struggle
Of standing bravely for a lifetime
Stationary, each living embodiment cries
Rooted so deeply in Virginia soil
Roots give them life with binding purpose
An imprisoned life will only spoil
with imprisoning tethers
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For many years I didn't "Get" poetry. I looked at it like abstract art. It was senseless to me.
ReplyDeleteFortunately I learned, what is at least the "trick" or the key for me. I finally saw what I hadn't noticed before.
Poetry, like abstract art, is not the message but the key to a door. Through that door is a language without words but starkly clear.
IF... you have the key to open the door.
Nice Key Tina.