I don’t usually write poetry but today at lunch time I took myself off to Potters Fields to sit with the sadness I’m currently feeling for some people close to me, and out poured the following (pretty sure today’s post won’t meet the 200 minimum word quota I set myself but sometimes an artist must suffer for her work, and now is one such time):
The weight of the world
If heartbreak had a physical weight, this bench would have buckled years ago. So many came and went, sitting with their burdens when carrying them became too much to bear.
The late summer sun, whilst beautiful, seems now to taunt the hopeful souls who stroll and sit beneath it, catching the last rays before the seasons roll inexorably on.
Above the fading blooms two butterflies (who did not get the end of summer memo) frolic in the air, rising and falling on a breeze so faint it hardly stirs the blades of grass below.
Is this an end or a beginning? In some ways it is neither, but rather just a phase in the constantly shifting cycle of existence.
Why is it only humans want answers? Simple: Because the universe already knows.
(…and will you look at that, I’ve just broken the word count barrier).
Lovely.You did it well. I would just say in answer to your penultimate stanza ‘Is this an end or a beginning? In some ways it is neither,’ that it is also both. Sx