Poetry influx

Beware. Poetry looms on the horizon.

"Mother Summer"

Hello summer, welcome back.
You’ve been gone awhile
Leaving us to winter’s cruel rack,
But now you’re here, bringing us your sunny smile.
Pick us up, brush us off, tell us it’s okay.
Place warming kisses on our brows,
Prepare us for the coming day.
To your season we will always espouse.
And in your loving glow we’ll laze,
Lounge by lakesides, play carefree.
Try to extend your stay, elongating these long days.
But if leave you must, despite our giant plea.
Promise that next year you’ll return.
Bringing again those warm days we forever yearn.



"Help"

“Help”



I died without knowing.

I woke to find myself six feet deep.
Walls stretching high on all sides,
Sky out of reach.
Choking, panicked,
I paced my grave.

People passed above.
Some slowed but ignored me.
Others wept and left flowers,
Lamenting my departure.
I feared to call out.
What if they did not respond? Did not turn?
It would confirm my death.

As I followed my path back and forth
I realized I was slightly deeper.
My grave wasn’t a grave at all,
But a rut built over time.

Could I escape? Was it impossible?
Each familiar step merely carried me on.
Five steps forward. Five back to the start.
Deeper and deeper I dug.

Tears did not help.
They turned the dirt to mud
Sucking me deeper.
Scrabbling at the walls brought more dirt down,
Drowning me further in darkness.

Rage against my death I did
But to no avail.
I sat, leaned against root-riddled wall
And watched the living pass me by.
I yearned to join them.
To walk in sunshine once more,
On new paths with new sights.

A single word, more whispered than said
Escaped my lips.

A passerby, one whom oft left flowers heard.
I feared they would continue to their way
But without delay they stopped and extended hand.

Half-afraid, half-hopeful I grasped it.
Working together we pulled and strained
Until, in a burst of light, I found myself resurrected.

I walk among the living again.
I keep one eye on the road ahead.
But the other, the other always remains on my grave.
It follows me, ready to pull me in.
But when I feel its inexorable pull,
I cry that little word
And a dozen hands dart out,
Stabilize me and help me find my path again.