i stand beneath-
thy broken arms
which once stretched so lovingly
towards thy father sun.
thy broken branches now do rest-
upon the ground, midst leaves and stones
for thy sister storm came by
and took thine arms and thy branches-
stole thy leaves away
but tis no trouble, i hear thou utter-
for there is always another year to grow.
the winter makes me so happy
the snow hanging in the trees
the cold biting at you
i love it
oh Icarus, you poor thing.
fell in love with the sun, the sky-
paid the price, i suppose.
why do we always pay the price for love?
Orpheus, lonesome poet,
lost his love because he wanted to tell her they'd made it.
In my attic I keep my heart.
I hold it there, safe amidst pillows, blankets and childhood stuffed animals.
When I make things, I break off a piece of my heart,
and sew it into pillows,
Comments
i love this poem, and all of the imagery! :)
Aww thanks!
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