Song For An Eager Soul

Inside,
grows a frightening calm,
passive, beneath
remnants of lavendar
severed, hung to dry.

I am
the mountain eroded,
worn,  emotions jutting
upwards, I am dissolved for preservation



Discolored beams
mirror the clouds,
torn by the echo of
 my eager soul.
Psychotic voices drip
into recesses of an unwell mind that waits

Across my face lines
tell a tale of the acacia that weeps.
Its yellow flowers grafted in roots stretch wide against the mossy surface of my mind
With admiration I welcome the touch

  Herbs that grow in bunches that sway gently
Like bouquets unearthed with nowhere to go but
to live inside of me
There they will last forever
Dried,  within the
confines of my heart