The Beauty of Poetry
The cold barren trees
No easy sway, but staunch in strife.
No green from the leaves;
No signs of life.
Simply sticks Gray and dark
jut out in endless formation.
All that is left alone is wood and bark,
They crack and sway, with no protection.
All day they toil,
As the winds beat them endlessly.
All night there is trouble,
When the cold sets in senselessly.
But just one time of day,
When the day turns to night,
Lifts all the pain away.
The sun drifts down its set slope,
Following the ways it always goes.
There is no time to sob or mope,
Because for this one second
This one instant,
The golden hues broken with yellow,
Burst through the jutted sticks
Dancing on the them as a old and friendly fellow.
The dazzling light comes and l flicks,
It all away
All the pain.
The leaves are no longer barren.
The are adorned with golden leaves.
Crafted as meticulously woven.
As natural and strong as the seas.
This moment of light,
It ends the cold darkness of strife.
And makes one forget the time of night.
This moment of light,
Of redemption and adornment,
It is the pen and I.
Together for one moment.
We can bear through the cold dark day,
For the light that shines as it may.
I wish not for the Mediocre green
For it is what you always see.
I wish for this beautiful moment
Unknown and untouched by man.
It is worth the time of barren duty,
And we will make it to spring
Where we can create our own beauty.