brown petals, broken stems.

by ty

If I had to put the past few days, or weeks to be exact in a short phrase, it’d definitely be likened to the little task a teacher would task to a kindergarten child during morals lesson in which he’d be faced with perhaps, something unredeemable and arguably hideous – but the catch lies in the fact that he’s not supposed to run from it, or face it with disdain. In reality, he’s supposed to find a silver lining in it.

I once read on a writing prompts page that the world seems pretty boring until you stop to think that there are 90ft long, 300,000lb animals that just swim around singing sad songs all day, all year round. And I thought it made perfect sense.

the first time he saw its footsteps,
he was five and forlorn –
marks against white feathers,
discontinuity amongst soft rhythms.

the adults always said that everything could be fixed,
loose ends taut with the strength of metallic jaws,
repeated coats of fresh paint,
just to cover one grey spot.

but his mind works too fast for his hands,
fingertips calloused from years of rushing,
rushing just to fill in the gaps.

porcelain cracks, metal rusts, shadows fade,
lights off – but his panegyric remains, distinct.

tell me about the time you met yourself, they say.

and he replies that he’s off course,
lost amongst the firmaments he’d learnt to admire,
eyesight blurry from a neck craned to high,
sprite aimed too far.