poetry – Thistle Thoughts

#OctPoWriMo Prep

Instead of this graveyard of drafts I’m accumulating, I can go and tend to them, nourish the garden of my hard work, and revive them into newness.

The end of summer is making sure I feel it.

little brother,
keep dancing

little brother,
breathe

my wrath
drains crimson
down the bath

Flashes of lightning
illuminate you,
and I turn away
lest I cry.

I have learned to be glad
for the things I’ll
never understand

…blue lights
turn on
one by one…

what pain looks like
but only to those
who allow themselves to feel it

Whispering birds,
frail and sunken-eyed

What about
when the heart knocks back?