Crumpled Poetry

Oh, but I am so very much more

than a collection of pretty words.

I’m tear stained and crumpled poetry;

stirring, profound, rubbish, absurd.

I’m tranquil shades of arcadian blue,

a hawk soaring over wide open skies;

demure and charcoal grey backdrops,

and storms raging from swollen eyes.

I am the stench of decayed, rotting earth

and the fertile soil for next years blooms.

I am a golden, shining city on the hill,

all its dark alleys and forgotten rooms.

Endless galaxies and infinite light;

nothing more than a grain of sand.

I’m gritted teeth and a clenched fist,

an open heart, and outstretched hand.

© Cristen Writes

Image by Yana Istoshina