the leaf

a bullet to the heart

as depression and life are prone to do,

an urge to peruse the past

through written words and love notes

is one of the few ways of staying sane.

there's life in it still,

but how many summers ago it was plucked

will never be known;

instead, it has lived all its days

since a young hand plucked it from the living branch

in the darkness of pressed pages.

the pledge to return it

when we took to the roads in vehicles other than ten speeds

and shaved our faces with such regularity

it would be a shame to keep borrowing our fathers' razors.

high school is a troubling time,

and the desire to fit with the crowds of beautiful faces

and late night bonfire parties

is matched by a complete rejection of the same premises.

who we are was defined in brush strokes and bloody ink

as we rolled off the assembly line

fresh diploma in hand.

lamentations for all that is lost

be it woman, innocence, or best friend.

Shakespearian lines could be quoted,

but too often they are taken to provoke cheer,

leaving the door open for happy reunions.

the cynic is forgotten

in favor of lies and delusions

spun in our minds so many times

the truth is merely grains of sand

falling through our hands on the shore.

a tree can not be replanted,

nor the seeds retrieved.

So take what you can salvage

from the cool ashes

of the bridges we thus far have burned.

Reviews

[S.S.P.]

excellent poem, clearly executed and well written :)