Forever Altered
To say change is hard or slow is a lie. It is soft and swift, an idea masquerading as daydreams rooting like tender spring weeds, yellow…
Photo by Jo Hilton on Unsplash
To say change is hard or slow is a lie.
It is soft and swift,
an idea masquerading as daydreams
rooting like tender spring weeds,
yellow flowers in stone cracks.
It happens between heartbeats —
that flash of clarity not dismissed
an exhaled hush of a soul
— if only
and suddenly all is altered.
There's no suspending
the fateful heart pulse
or stilling the wishful golden vision
that dances carefree and
sings of what could be.
No time to mourn or linger
with wilted stems clasped
before the headstones of what was.
It is here once more,
— beckoning, if only.
As effortless as dying,
the subtle ringing inside a lone soul
and the world quakes, and we moan
as walls crumble under the weight
of a single lemon petal.
© Tarrant Smith 2020