The Flowers: Cycles #5

Cycles move
Cycles change
Cycles come and go away

The path is green
And dark
And frayed

Many wander through it
Missing the sights

I miss this
I say to my lover
Perched in an old Beech tree
Seeing things
I used to miss
the way it used to be…

The birds skim trees
Making music
Silhouette the evening sky.
Some searching
Pack their tiny wings
Dive bomb fall down, then rise

On my way through opening, closing gates
I see
A flower stick out among the stinging nettles

We wander
Never knowing
Really
Where we are going
Or what we will do
Me and my best friend
Follow the way,
I don’t say anything
Just watch him
Rustle through the brush

On stone I sit
Still
I can feel the dry powder top,
And wander when this has to end
Remembering cycles,
Cycles,
The tragedy of the spirit
The most beautiful thing that could be…

Now I weep for the day that you go, my love
If I grow and shrink to become old and wrinkled
And I’ll be the old man looking at the flowers
I hope that I can speak to you of that day
And hold your hand as we pass away
Completing the cycles
Together

 

-Ben