What it is to see,
In the stillness of the leaves
A forest quite of white dead trees,
The limbs splayed out, contorted
Dry as a dead man’s hand
Not one alive in all the rows
Though soon they’ll bloom again
A glimpse of Eden In a dream
The rolling fields of ardent green
Lilacs upturned to the sky to drink,
And Sol, a spot,
Hangs o’er head but not forgot,
The limbs in wind they blow again,
And all the lost, and all the gone,
Will be there by the shore to see you on.
When Luna she takes the throne,
Throwing a blanket ragged and star-strewn
When in shadow of penumbra
over comes the light to stay
The creatures in the shadows roam,
until the brilliance of the dawn.
Out of their hole to pray.
To laugh, to sing,
And each new spring
The wheat in gold fields sway
And mother Earth who breathes, a breeze,
As though a glimpse of Eden,
in the prism of a dream.
brandon the writer | author & staff writer for sir swag 