Awaited end

There was no other try
Left to make the best
Out of something so beautifulÂ
It was dead before it grewÂ
Anywhere, branches stretchingÂ
deceased leaves waitingÂ
To finally fall, off this special
One thing, my heart has fought forÂ
This was not loveÂ
An obsession, masked expensive colorsÂ
Still the gray took its form
When it reached the end,
We couldn’t fathom the thoughtÂ
Yet I wonder if all alongÂ
you knew.
Â
Like 2 Pin it 0
Support CosmoFunnel.com
You can help support the upkeep of CosmoFunnel.com via PayPal.
Comments
I like the metaphor of the tree particularly "deceased leaves." That phrase alone is so redolent of the whole meaning behind your poem. I also like the line "still the grey took its form." Almost like there was an inevitability about it and sure enough, like all good writers, you leave the revelation to the last two words. Brilliantly done.Â