Truth shows up,
walking through clover
thick enough to stain my cuffs.
It never learned my name.
The air feels like too much,
sweet and careless,
stuffed with honeysuckle
and soft light.
My heart can’t hold it all,
like I’ve won the lottery.
Death walks beside me,
slow, patient,
hands in pockets,
whistling something,
like it’s got nowhere better to be.
He doesn’t speak,
doesn’t judge,
just moves through the sweetness,
like it’s all old hat.
The sky cracks open,
orange spilling into pink,
so loud it makes my head spin.
I try to drink it in,
my hands shaking,
like I’m trying
to hold a fistful
of clouds.
Every step feels borrowed,
like I’ve got too much
and not enough
all at once.
So I keep moving,
feet pressed into the dirt,
hands tasting the wind,
heart too full for my own good.
I know it won’t last.
I know the colors,
the smell of clover
and soft light
will slip through my fingers.
And still, I walk,
eyes wide,
drunk on everything,
because there’s no other way.
This is no other way. That is so true you need to keep going forward while the euphoric feeling is there.
Thank you. Much appreciated.
“Death walks beside me,
slow, patient,
hands in pockets,
whistling something,
like it’s got nowhere better to be.”
Beautifully penned, Thomas. Excellent write my friend. Really dig the stanza above but it was all amazing. Appreciate you.
Damian
Thanks, my friend.
Great work, full of fire and grit.
Regards
James
Thank you.
The way you describe death walking beside you with his hands in his pockets, like he’s not worried because his time will come as it always does in time and he’ll be there for it…all wrapped up between the moments of gorgeous nature unfolding around you…this is a masterpiece! Also, there is a distinct feeling of tiny death found in witnessing something so incredibly awe-inspiring beautiful. Brilliant
You are fantastic. Thank you.