deafening quiet; solace forever
nature’s glory, connection eternal
streets are dark, and love is you
chill of autumn in your hair
breeze moving us along like ghosts
gaunt bodies through the streets
lifeless yet alight
leaves sweeping across and up
and all around, a gentle hurricane
of green and brown, red and orange
a cacophony of color
encompassing you
I reached for you
and plucked a yellow leaf from your curls
and held it to the moonlit sky
and I watched it glow
like morning dew in the sun
then, all I could do was smile
and all you could see
was me
About the Creator
angela hepworth
Hello! I’m Angela and I enjoy writing fiction, poetry, reviews, and more. I delve into the dark, the sad, the silly, the sexy, and the stupid. Come check me out!
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Foot Bindings
I asked my grandmother how she knew she'd fallen in love. I am not sure I ever did love him, she said. This was before I met my husband. I was naive, a naked spring, a raw nerve of a thing. That cannot ever be me, I knew. Sadness swept in gently like a Moscow thaw. It is no simple thing, looking into a woman's vast soul and seeing its foot bindings. Now, in Italy divorced with my skin singed off, when I say I don't love him mean: I have succeeded at feeling nothing most days and it mostly works. Do you want the comfort of Nothing? Do you want Nothing, too? Be warned: you'll never be free, even when you are nothing. Here is what doesn't work: Accepting the stages of grief. Talking about it. Sitting with the feeling. Missing him—no, the person you were when you believed in death do us part. Writing poetry. That, too. When I say I don't love him I mean: I feel capsized in an endless, starved tide. What sometimes works: selective memory. You must forget ripe tomatoes and his beard and feeling perfectly sheltered in a big blue world. Forget coffee in bed, laughter watching TV, blowing out the candles on the birthday cake and the quiet all-encompassing knowledge that you are chosen. Remember only how love turned to a banal everyday survival act, a trapeze act unsure whether he will catch you, how the warmth stagnated and became sour, remember the foot bindings and remember the resentment boiling in your veins as you stick it out for the kids. Six-hour Netflix binges help, too. A man's fingers tracing your spine. Frozen pizza at 2 a.m. Random trips to the museum just to stand near things that last a while. The realization that crying won’t change anything. Seeing that life is just a dream, and refusing to participate in your own suffering. Bite your fist. Walk on eggshells around joy. When I say I don't love him, I mean he didn’t break my heart, he just stopped touching it and it forgot how to beat right.
By Ella Bogdanova3 days ago in Poets
Comments (12)
This oozes serenity and romance!
This flowed so beautifully, Angela! What a vivid scene you’ve crafted
There's nothing quite like an autumn walk. Well written, Angela!
Phenomenally written & intense! I would love to hear you recite this piece! Well done Angela! ☺️ 👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾
This poem paints a vivid picture of a shared moment of connection amidst the quiet beauty of autumn. The imagery is striking, capturing the stillness and the vibrancy of the season. The use of sensory details, such as the "chill of autumn in your hair" and the "cacophony of color," creates a strong sense of atmosphere. The central theme of human connection, expressed through the shared experience of nature, is both poignant and uplifting. The final image of the glowing leaf is a beautiful metaphor for the magic of the moment.
Please please please let this be based on something that happened! Either way, such an amazing and imagery filled poem, it took me into that moment so well! 🩷🩷🩷
Awww, this was so lovely! Such a beautiful poem!
Beautiful scenery, beautiful story! 💌
This is so beautifully written I love it.
ah, so beautifully written! I love the descriptions that make it come alive and the way the emotions seep out! well done, Angela!
not enough walks like that in life! Loved it
nice