Written by The AprilCentaur
The path I walked through to the park
dense with breeze and graveyards.
Riverside,
I sit by heavy, silent trees,
rustling
against the emptiness.
I must have known they wanted conversation
so I listened to troubles
of lacking freedom.
Castigated to a spot
riddled by creepers,
living their youth,
a different life.
Childish worries, I muttered.
I must have seen in them
some measure of myself.
Powerful stems
in service
to passing tides.
Head lifted up
toward hope
toward love
reflection
toward sight and privilege to be acknowledged.
A whisper,
charging the quiet night
“I see you.”
I comforted
their crackling leaves.
.
The AprilCentaur is the chief editor of the AprilCentaur Network, a community dedicated to creating opportunities for writers and filmmakers. He is a filmmaker, writer, and director. This is where he starts his first public submissions.