Goldenrose

Was it light in the morning,

when the fog was thick on the water,

and the world was cracking its eyelids at the dawn?

Did the thin layers of ice persuade you?

Repair the world, 

pull off the patterned papers. 

Leave the walls all bare and empty, 

no toll, free entry. 

Leaves fallen, trod upon, 

whisper of discarded dreams 

as they crack 

under your weight. 

It’s your world 

Behind the walls, 

behind the fences. 

Behind the perfect, 

the imperfections. 

Swallow my pride, 

I am not 

Now is a tree,

a place that is made of history.

Feel with your fingers

for lines etched in the bark,

the future is there