split in two
by Nature,
by the seasons—
neglecting the change
that creeps up
through your center,
stirs within
your heart,
when Old Self
is no longer
New Self,
when She looks
different from how
You look now.

otherwise
shattered to pieces
by the Human Foot
that kills you
lest you bend
in two:
one side met
by mud and dirt
the other
by rays of sun—
always torn
between two sides
of You.

You ask:
who am I
at my core?
dark and dead,
that part of me
that led me to
who I am
today?
or bright with color,
the new You,
who's whole,
wonderful,
and perfect?
~
perhaps we're
more than one
to claim
our own—
like leaves
caught between
summer and autumn,
we don't grow
"perfectly."
why feel split
in two
when there's
more to you
than what
they see?

leaves don't hide
their colors
when the time comes
to change,
to die—
in fact,
the loveliest time
of year
is that when
leaves are dead,
trees are bare,
and colors mix
randomly,
yet purposely,
to form the
single leaf that
you hold
graciously
in Your palm
now.

so You are
split in two
by Nature,
by the seasons,
or shattered
to pieces
by the Human Foot?
no leaf is
burdened by
its colors—
why should you be?
art imitates nature:
you are a
perfect reflection
of that divided
leaf—
nothing but
harmony in your
discord,
perfection in
your imperfection—
like trees content
with their fallen leaves,
be the soul
of disunity.

Brinn W.

This poem (and photo) were created and written by Brinn Wallin. Please do not steal or copy without permission.                                    *All Rights Reserved*