I AM

A poem; begins in a wood.  A bit dark, a bit abstract. My usual.

I am the balanceI am
that leans towards dark.
This breath you take, begins here;
ends with me now,
within my green lungs.

A leaf scratch,
on your face;
bloody berry drop,
Beauty and love then,
worked as opposites.

I will hold you.
Here you can cry.
No-one sees oblivion arrive,
cutting away days;
like failed grey saplings.

The years compress,
each full dying season.
Rot, soil, seed; root, branch, tree.
The world turns on,
these acres watch. See.

I will hide you;
bury your dead,
offer mist as your sight fails;
a place by the bridge
where sleep is caught.

A rabbit runs free;
you plan to leave.
Without memory all nightmares
are dreams,
lacking reference.

I am the balance,
that leans towards dark.
This breath you take, begins here;
ends with me now,
within my green lungs.

(c) 4 October 2015 Becky Sowray

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