Who Can Feel Sad With Forsythia?

Who knows when a welcome has worn? Worry
strives to master joy’s salute. Sorry, scorned
antithesis is born in disaster.
Outside the world is blooming. Hope reborn

scuttles in dread, a reversal. My heart’s
rehearsal dwelt too long on enmity.
I see my part, dragging identity
down dysfunction’s paths. Who’s unflagging art

accompanies from shore to door? Who can
answer my hesitant knock? To span
a long life, my illusory bridges
must fail. The dangling track’s prodigious.

Is everything I’ve wrought reduced to naught?
The train’s long gone when the caboose, distraught
creeps by. I say that I’m a lover. Fear
defined this life and is no longer dear.

Inspired by: Antithesis, Caboose, Strive, Salute and the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt to start this post with either who or whom.

Published by

Victoria Stuart

I'm a poet, philosopher and inner seeker. A giver, lover and a healer who studies the heart.

3 thoughts on “Who Can Feel Sad With Forsythia?”

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