They wither

And here we see the fall of them with the advent of summers…

They wither now,

 

unperfected with dots of dissuading heat,

I touch the touch of seasons, take it in my palm

and feel the life seeping away, I free the force

plucking it from the scratched wooded source,

and set it on the iron bar, its last touch of height.

.

It stays in between weighing the air towards me

and that which would have it reach the ground,

exasperated and thoughtless that I can be,

I seize it once again and drop it, turning my back,

not to see its final journey end, by my hand.

.

They wither, now I melt.

.

Photograph clicked 19 March’14, presented with a hundred-worded verse.

* 11 April 2014, The new leaves now adorn the pillar of strength. Linking it up with Poets United Poetry Pantry.