05/09/2025
One rainy afternoon still, I lit a candle with your spark,
And slowly, I was able to get myself out of the dark.
With you the earth below my feet was firm and compact,
Unlike the one I'd used to walk to, all pliant and slack.
And while I had found a few lilacs and lavenders in a garden bypast,
The fallen leaves need not blind me from the comforting bloom it once had.
Memory of previous downpours were seldom hopeful in the past,
Yet I recall a sheltering bird, perched in the once lush garden, who sang away the bad.
Oh, the torturous grip a little hope brings forth,
Perhaps my previous indulgence in this seasonal garden had done nothing but soak
The clothes, books, dried roses and prosesβ all wet and moist
And a promise to keep the sillies ended up a broken oath.
My heart still bleeds the ink through the paper you bought
And craft reasons and excuses to keep her little feet aground, afloat.
What nonsense it was to waken in the middle of a storm
Only to trace the steps again from a forsaken garden and prick myself with thorns.
'Because it's September: the month with a trace of fire etched into every leaf that falls.'
