by Darryl Price
This isn't just another perfectly wasted day
To me. From here for instance it's
Still bursting full of little yellow flowers
Growing out and over the rock walls
And with wild zooming honey bees barely
Missing your face as they chase the
Alluring fragrance to its central sticky source.
The soft sky is like a long
Silk covered road leading somewhere into a
Faraway dream. I breathe it all in
And smile. And in the middle of
All that free wonder I'm striding all
Alone down a leaf strewn bike path
Listening to a bunch of noisy insect
Camps talking over each other about the
End of this particular summer's time on
The yearly stage. A few butterflies spark
And wave as they tumble past on
Their somersaulting way, hurrying to the secret
Mystic summit of their ancient societies. Perhaps
They'll come up with a clever butterfly
Way to save the planet from disappearing
Before I'm no longer able to participate.
One can always hope. There's no smoke
In the air today. I don't know
If that's a good thing or a
Bad, but I'm taking it as a
Sign for now of miracles to come.
All rights reserved.
There is still so much pain in the parting of ways. Everyone is looking for something they'll only know when they see it for themselves.But the paths that wrench us out of each other's hands can blind us with tears for years. Writing poems is a way to meet you again for me, just so I can tell you it's okay, whatever happens we'll still have the poem our lives once made together happening here.
This isn't just another perfectly wasted day is scheduled for publication in Blue Fifth Review in April 2016. Thank you, Sam.