moonpoeta

"I wish I had told you
that whispering trees would cradle every fragment of you,
And the wind would pirouette with your sorrow.
I never fathomed the shape of forever—
In this fleeting world, you exist but a breath.
As years unfurled, I believed I could understand,
The ink you bled but then ignored,
A child of shadows, never guided home.
Perhaps the haze corrodes my sight when I gaze behind,
Yet even as I peer into the distance ahead,
there's nothing left to find."
I tried to catch my breath and paused for a second.
“Do the whispering trees keep their own watchful eyes?", I asked.
“They have no eyes—only endless ears, to gather every breath of sorrow, every whisper, every lie,” you replied.
And the whispering trees began to sigh.