Acorns

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

His words were acorns
dropping like leaves
"Pay no attention to these;
they will never be trees"
says the man, says the oak
who was once a small seed.
"What I think, I shan't do.
I'm too small. I'll just think."
But razors were erasers
by the side of the sink
and bullets were angels
and medication was sleep
and thought of more methods
drove acorns in deep.
Into the soil now,
underneath light
into a world of
perpetual night
I can feel them take root
as deeper they sink.
"I'm too small,"
says the man,
"I shan't do. I just think."
But his words became
heavy
and neither gale nor breeze
could uproot the thoughts
that grew silent under leaves
and I search now in the forest
for the source of the seed
but he is missing
and I cannot
pay no attention to these

NEXT?
Why don't you look at TIME TO GO
by: Paul Curtis
from: Woking, England, UK

To visit all of Crystal Dawn Allen's poems, click HERE

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