the wonder

I am from all the forgotten places,

from the depths, and the tall grasses.

I am from the splintered glass,

vile, painful.

It tasted like rust and salt,

sounded like a broken bell clanging ceaselessly to a world that could never hear it.

felt like the cold sting of sleet from the storm that just won’t pass.

I am from the kingdom lost,

the ivy-covered walls a ruse, long-abandoned life clinging to brick and cruel iron.

I’m from the hidden and the hope,

from the wind and fire, and the soil.

I’m from the waves that destroy and 

swallow dreams of flying.

 

From the eternal wilderness and 

the ever-sweet petrichor, 

I’m from the profoundness of silence,

and the honor of the forest in autumn.

I’m from the coffee-flavoured understanding that time is slipping away,                                                                                     

an unbelievable sight like lone nightlight,

one that’s powered by all the stars in the galaxy.

From the city skyline at dusk, with a swath of violets and oranges,

on that azure, empyrean canvas.

The towering stories and brightness of the sun, not quite eternal, but wishing.

I am from the longing for winter, the regal coldness of snow on the summer’s last leaf.

This poem is about: 
Me
My family

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