An Ode to my Youth
My snow cap whines for coal and ash.
My bones harmonize with hinges devoid of grease
My Everests are made of wood and stone.
My lungs play a staccato rhythm with the wind.
My weathered face has become my biographer
Lines telling of my woe
Lines carved by precious joy
Tear troughs handwoven by stress.
Like a leafless tree bent by time I stand
Near hollowed out, devoid of gifts I stand
Even as the wind sings a dirge for my soul
I wonder if in eternal rest I'll still be like that tree
A haunting echo of transient beauty.
