A plastic bag sits in the freshly harvested field
The wind slowly rustling it, but it’s stuck in the stocks.
The leaves are still on the trees
The wind slowly rustling them, but soon they will fall.
The grass green.
The flowers fading.
The sky ever changing.
Sunsets earlier and sunrises later.
The light lessens and the darkness increases.
Blankets. Tea. A good book.
Snuggles with pets and Netflix for cold, rainy days.
Heat turning on AC seldom used.
Final bonfires and fireplaces regularly being lit.
Extra layers, cardigans, flannels, jackets, hoodies.
Sandals away and wool socks rediscovered.
The smell of things fading, decaying.
A season turning slowly then all at once.
Lingering taste of summer on our lips.
Then forgetting it ever existed.
A deep breath in.
A deep breath out.
Now it’s autumn.
Or fall.
The script for my life
ABC’s 123’s
Counting and reading
Writing and learning
Checking the boxes of an ordinary life
First steps, always happening.
Old beginnings, new endings.
A cyclical pattern, unknown was the start.
If I could find it would I understand?
If I could map it out would I better plan?
Could I understand the way my mind works?
Could I grasp something solid with the trio contained plus liquid and gas?
Trinity of self. Mind, body, spirit.
Only now I begin to truly hear it.
My body.
A breath in. A breath out.
each one ends. each one begins.
a cyclical pattern.
Of course there was a start to this… There will be an end.
But unknown.
I know the start of many happenings.
I know the end of many.
But why do I concern myself with this darkeness of the unknown?
Is the unknown always dark?
Is there such a thing as known?
Perhaps light comes from being unknown.
Perhaps light is defined by something other than known or unknown-ness.
Perhaps trying to define this in some form of poetical prose will not help.
Perhaps. A cup of tea.
The breeze outside my window.
Hearing children laugh in the distance.
Smelling a candle and seeing its dim light fade.
Perhaps a realignment with my true self.
The one I have hidden back in a forgotten room.
Waiting until it is safe to surface.
For the lights to be off so that I cannot be seen.
But cannot my true self be this one I have created?
Is the true self only the best self?
It’s probable that this is another unknown.
Maybe myself, being what it is, needs growth.
Maybe there is not a good or bad or best or anything at all.
I wonder if there is such a thing as just.
just being.
just resting.
Believing that I don’t mark off every check box
I don’t type out all of my thoughts
I don’t finish every book or watch every episode
I just am. I exist. I am safe. I am loved.
To be. Alive. Fearing death more than fearing life.
Or to lack fears at all.
The softest blanket taking over the place of a usual lightning cloud
The silent room taking over the screaming mind
a calmness.
a peace.
the start.
the end.
Lately, I love the little things
Lately, I can’t ignore them
Lately, I also attempt to scorn them
The smile of friendship starting
The smile of a joke continued
The smile perhaps of misunderstanding?
Misunderstood in the past. Now notwithstanding?
Misunderstood, the fear of it, taking over my planning
Misunderstood because of fear of misunderstanding
Living too far into the future
Living with my fears of bringing my past along
Living cannot happen if I drag this on
Subdued thoughts
Subdued actions
Subdued for too long brings compression
Compression, holding back my heart
Compression, keeping myself from ever giving my heart
Compression, lurking in the corner to explode, implode
Hopes that I have once had, moved on
Hopes that moving on is no longer my forever journey
Hopes that I may rest, that I myself am who I really am
The longing mixed with patience
Patience mixed with fear
Fear mixed with longing
Spinning. Around. Stopping.
The words of my heart
The beats of my heart with
One glance
A tone of voice
My name
_____________________________________
Originally written October 9th, 2017
Airplanes and Fireflies
By Winter Burnett June 21, 2017
Stars and fireflies. The tiny lights that light the way.
Airplanes and cell towers. Are they the ones that get in the way?
Technology has this hold on me… that you don’t see.
It has the ability to connect you to me.
When will I stop pretending?
Can I ever change my ways?
These secrets I hide?
The lies I hide behind?
The flicker of hope a ‘like’ brings.
That twinge of regret after a snap.
One retweet would be worth a hundred words.
That tagged status update, a million.
When will I stop pretending?
Can I ever change my ways?
These secrets I hide?
The lies I hide behind?
The humor is geared towards my favorites.
I have a collection of admirers.
They don’t know the real me.
And those who do, I fear don’t want to.
When will I stop pretending?
Can I ever change my ways?
These secrets I hide?
The lies I hide behind?
I fear that I’m some peoples’ annoying, unfollowed follower.
But I don’t fear the internet, I fear the place we call real life.
How do I leave this fake world and focus on the now?
How do I draw the line and not use it to hide behind?
So many thoughts.
I should start another journal.
I should find a friend.
But which ones are like me? Keeping their secrets and pretend?
Nothing in my life slows down.
People always want me to keep moving.
Here we have a beginning to something. Something new? Something classic?
I have a lot of beginnings. Mostly because I like to try new things. I pretend it’s not because I don’t form good habits of continuing things. I plan to write new words and also share some old ones. At the very least rereading my old ones may inspire new and having old will encourage me to keep up the habit.
I enjoy metaphors and playing with incorrect sentence structure and punctuation. So if grammar is your jam maybe reading the poetry of this blog will be quite dramatic for you. But if metaphors are your jam perhaps this blog with metaphor in the title is just the thing for you.
I would love to hear feedback or comments of continued poetry… And feel free to share my words as the internet so easily allows us to do.
Probably A Metaphor 