As All Things Do

You don’t mind if I sit here awhile
and just rest my eyes,
my head,
my heart
a little,
do you?

It’s just that
in the grand scheme of things,
you seem like a strong oak
on which to rest my back,
and I thought I might
put my toes into
the same river that feeds your roots.

Perhaps you will show me
how to be gracious in the rain,
grateful to the sun,
and let go of my

fleeting,

beautiful moments,
all of them small and fragile,
dried lace,
the color of fire,
caught in the river,
or the wind

— wherever, it hardly matters —

to be carried from me,
ever onward,

disappearing

as all things do.

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About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
This entry was posted in Love Poems, On Depression, Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

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