deepundergroundpoetry.com
Ivy (using a different metaphor to describe the thing in me that won't accept contentment)
Maybe I am blind,
or simply yet to find my sight.
In any case, I've not the hands
to pluck these leafy eyes.
Maybe I am deaf,
and maybe not; I've symphonies
not in any manmade voice -
in garden-birds that sing.
Because the kind of beauty
I exude must writhe and wind,
I think that I am ivy.
I will climb until I die.
or simply yet to find my sight.
In any case, I've not the hands
to pluck these leafy eyes.
Maybe I am deaf,
and maybe not; I've symphonies
not in any manmade voice -
in garden-birds that sing.
Because the kind of beauty
I exude must writhe and wind,
I think that I am ivy.
I will climb until I die.
Published 25th Aug 2017
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 2
reading list entries 0
comments 1
reads 512
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
25th Aug 2017 1:03pm
Ivy is also evergreen, Rowan. And houses nests for birds to to continue their lineage. 🐦
Lovely verse.
Lovely verse.
