Week 15

Fruitless

To view a flower such as thee,
to garden home I'd stretch my feet.
I'd sit among the plants all day
and contemplate their windblown sway,
their soft green limbs that climb the sky,
and vibrant petals please the eye.
What use they serve I cannot know,
for waste of space is all that shows,
and while those small lives may still thrive,
for you that path is but demise.
The rose may grow within this world,
as fruitless life becomes unfurled,
but you who naught but see thy self,
in stylish dress and hoards of pelf,
can grow no more than mere seedling,
and be naught but the life you cling.

Week 4

A little late but I wrote this last week. I don't really like it as much as I COULD like it, however, so I spent the past few days trying to refine it but it's not working. It's too bad, too, because I love the image of Autumn Leaves...

Autumn Leaves

The autumn leaves dance slowly to the ground,
And look! Another takes his long dive down!
This tumbling piece of life seen from a glance,
A memory--so weak from time long passed.
He viewed the world through rain'd and sunny days,
From tiny green sprout just starting to sway,
To strong and vibrant veins and vigorous curves,
Yet now his days are gone, but still he twirls.
He may forget the day of fog and mist,
The moist air spread across the land like myth,
The day the boys all played amoung his boughs,
Among his limbs they built a sturdy house.
Still yet his dreams of memories will flow,
And Watch him fall, the dreams yet still allowed,
Enough to give him joy and let him fly,
His one last dance before his life last fades.