the duality of letting go

I look upon your faces, masks fallen to the ground; romanticized your autumns, and let your greenest leaves turn brown.

Beauty unbound from its jailer,
realized success in
spite of her failures,

though expressions of trauma
resound.

I watched round gardens turn to squares, perfect fences fall down.
I saw the meadows mutiny and cold’s crescendo expound.

White picket ambitions
contradicted
by burial grounds beyond,

and fauna reared on
their wrongs
prosper like
slaughterhouses assimilated
into small towns.

I’ve climbed your swan song like a tree, to the top, ’til I could recite which lyrics snap with my weight and how many could have caught my fall. I pulled myself up after you’d been sapped of your bark, and I watched as your woodland heart was cut.

In that moment, I forgot how to love like
leaves would return next summer, adored
colours
all accounted for.

But true
to form, even the
longest winters fail to last,
and here I finally
look forward to
spring.

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2 thoughts on “the duality of letting go

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