Thank you to photographer Jeremy Bishop and Unsplash for the photo

Sprung up in an untrekked world

of flourishing green and thriving

and perfect balance

before time was ever time.

It has no eyes to see

but its outstretched arms

have felt the winds of transformation

and its deep-set roots

drink in nature’s degradation.

And though it had no choice

but to endure ring after ring

as green faded

to the concrete grey of progress

and balance slid

from inherent to orchestrated

and thriving gave way

to mindless surviving,

it still stands.

A lone tree

amidst a backdrop

of steel and innovation

inhales our poison gases

and breathes into us


If you should find it in your heart to love me again tomorrow,
I will love you too.
I will cast off the past and shrouds,
as one does when emerging into the sunshine
after an endless, fretful night.
I will awaken from the soft nest
of denial and fairy tales I laid
to dream of a world
where loving is enough.
I will allow myself to ache
and revel in that wanting of you,
if you should love me again tomorrow.

But I will not run to you.
I will not fall to my knees
and take you as…

One day my hands will be beautiful.
I will carry the sorrows and impossible joys,
the woes and dreams,
the true loves and tragedies
that seem too heavy to bear
until my joints crack
and my palms forget
that they had once been light and free.

One day my hands will be beautiful.
There will only be a whisper
of the soft skin you once loved to touch.
They will become like the earth,
the story of how I loved and lived
laid out in hills, valleys, and caverns.

One day my hands will be beautiful.
Young souls will look upon the knotty joints and wrinkles
seeing only the weight and pain
they have bared,
but it will have been my deepest joy
to hold and heal the hearts and burdens
and scrapes and scars
of those I loved most in the world.

Mocha Gypsy Writing

Sweet. Caffeinated. Wanderer. Wonderer. Libation enthusiast. Divine rebel. Entrepreneur — Copywriter | Brand Message Development

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