From behind the pines
I sit and I watch
the tides of time.
Seasons of tossing and turning,
melancholy arrest,
and sullen slumber.
When the days grow longer
we tussle with the continuous
and near burden
of accepting death
while also accepting
our rebirth.
I watch as the birds
seek asylum from
the cold that is to come.
the days come and go
and as I lay in bed,
I beg and plead
to hear the birds
and their morning songs
once more among the pine.
I watch as the trees
fall into a most vulnerable state
as their bare branches
scream to be seen.
Life looks to be no more.
Every inch of earth goes cold
and the birds are no longer near.
The trees stand tall and strong
awaiting the day
they won’t be
too cold to hold.
When the day to awaken
has finally come
a miracle then is performed-
life returns once more.
For when yule tide comes to an end,
a new cycle of life
begins again.
The trees and her leaves
come to fruition
boasted from life’s ever lasting
magical seeds.
I watch as the birds return home
and on that one faint morning
where the dew graces
the earth and her surfaces,
I hear them, attuning lightly
and then loud and proud
of the strength in their beings.
Perched from behind the pines,
I hear them.
Singing sweet, sweet nothings
of the tides of time.
Leave a Thoughtful Comment
Read 0 comments and reply