White Tiger

Put it all away

Copyright, White Tiger

Your broken leaf, brown and worn [so disconnected]
drifts for a short while on the zephyr
and forgets for a time that he was by no means aimed to fly [halo set aside];
Too late now [gingerly; fingers outreached] and he thinks it should probably hurt.
Does it? [with this tattered caress; it leaves him cracked and without the skin ::so green:: to weather the storm.]

The fall was so great [beneath these tears]
and it drains him,
drags him downwards like air without gravity
[suffocating in his new acceptance of how everything is found out in the ending]
The falling was so sincere, so great [antonym]
that he never recognised the significance of religion;
because he spent so much time clinging to the branches with his wisdom and his life
and with the wind whispering in his ear
[so much so the faith that he was where he was meant to be.]
UP HIGH ::the clouds are so beautiful aren’t they?::

And now he is too connected to slip away
recalling such a perception as to think he was always going to be sectioned bottle green in colour;
[now brown] but he didn’t discern any better than his heart enlightened in his head
Leaves are green forgetting the first step of accepting age and responsibility
[now brown] it’s all that matters to them [and the storm begs him to leave while he is able.]
Now too late.

Broken leaf, shivering against the ground
[still touching my mind] and crumbling to camouflage himself against the expectant grass
[he was never that green]
and he knows the walls have to empty of meaning
reaching for something to piece together his forsaken soul.
Wondering; waiting [envious] to forget reason and deny reality;
[to soar away on the wind once more.]

But the tides have changed
and the seasons have learnt their mistakes [only to repeated once more]
with the foot of reality crashing down [no faith]
and he’s shivering for that something to reach back.
[but he is crushed into a thousand pieces broken]
In reaching he cried violence [so disconnected] and the gentle wind has to be silent for him to forgive and forget himself [her]
Part of living and now fertilisation.
The call for regeneration,
reaching to fade and
begging for Spring to come
once again.

the day she stopped

Copyright, White Tiger

New in the way,
She kneels, mumbling grave thanks
beside her own tunnelled concealment;
This praying manipulation severing the mudflats [misplaced earth] with
voices returning, re-turning voices erasing this leaden reality.
[Follow me]

I don’t try hard enough.

Damaged wise girl [not now]
Her hands are rope burnt [no saviour] she draws
the tide ashore : natural magnetism.

Damaged dishonest girl [no white lies; not now]
Their footprints silencing the days of [countless lost souls] and
every truth that was ever blurred raw : sealing her veins.
[Follow me]

Damaged fake girl [and her little pyramid of expectant hope]
Her hands are restless; a betrayal of their mask [no reason to hide] she pulls
the term of endearment by force : her blind love more expressive
than any ignorance.

Damaged fake girl [and her little pyramid of strangled faith]
Her hands are reaching for; everything that ever was [every reason to cry] she touches
those who never knew they could walk, let alone fly : her gesture more eloquent
than heart-felt words.

Damaged hurt girl [not now; no white lies]
Their footprints silencing the shadow raging against her [marked existence] and
every truth that was ever felt through this woman in the desert : opening friendless scars.
[Follow me]

Left behind in her bid to escape a history book of wounds [not so much hers] : a
desert abandoned in the rain, [a bid to save them.] A
Damaged dead girl [now not]

I didn’t try hard enough.

Voices echoing, echoing voices bleeding away this stark certainty
of compliments, that couldn’t be held onto.
This drowning pilgrim of understanding creating [more mud] in urging fear.
[so]she falls [accepting destruction] in her
own hollowed out grave, screaming hollow thanks.[one in the same she is]
Old in the way.


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