Stabbed by Joy: Ode to the Return of the Prodigal Color, Come Springtime

Stabbed by Joy: Ode to the Return of the Prodigal Color, Come Springtime

Longed, pined,

Wept, died –

‘Waited’ is too

Weak a word.

 

Wouldn’t come.

(Couldn’t come?)

Never mind.

Feeling done.

 

Wistful windows

Desperate doors

Shut and trampled

(Evermore?)

 

Lookit here,

Little light!

Maybe soon

Arrives delight?

 

Wouldn’t come.

(Couldn’t come?)

Never mind!

Feeling done.

 

– In the sun

Blinded squint

Softer breeze –

Battered, bent…

 

There it is!

Right as rain –

Standing silent:

Green again.

Original Poetry