Late December

I struggle

Not to dwell upon my riddled life

Bombarded by mistakes,

The scorched mistakes of other people.

I am bent aslant,

A charred abandoned midnight sin,

A spent delight of other people.

I have cast my brightest leaves

Across the blasted land.

My broken bark and battered limbs - 

The birds won't come

To sing so sweetly

Anymore.

I scattered all

With open hands

Throughout the summer,

Precious flowering fruit

Of every kind and color,

Dropped for free

About the deepest craters.

Now,

The winter comes

And closes tight

To taunt my barren branches,

My declining solitary hours.

- 12/29/25