PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I know the flowers bloom in the spring

When the world grows tired of seeing grey

And the paper notes wading in the water

resemble limbs and chests rising up and down

The sound of kids bouncing balls on the

sidewalk as they finish up the school year,

bells toll for the final time

In the suburbs, you can smell the grass

and feel the breezes

And in the city

it’s the sweat that takes over your tongue

and the sound of chaos that grazes your shoulder

I’ll never grow tired of the distant sound

of fog horns

as their vessels punch through the

ocean river at dawn

When you count the days backwards

the message disappears

Your home becomes a disarray of unfamiliar

hums and exclamations

You begin to ask questions,

the deep ones, the ones born out of bread

and then you forget

The colorful tin cans you stacked in descending order

shift slightly from center

on the counter

where all of the great ideas happen,

happened

When you ask the world to make you whole again

you wait for it to succeed

you become kinder to yourself and others

And paralyze your heart only for a moment

And wait

For the million micro moments

to shock you back to life