drip, drip, drip...

The water drips down from the beautiful trees. Drip, drip, drip. That’s all I see and all I hear. My mind is shallow, so shallow that the beauty I forsake. Because I cannot stand to see the beauty I don’t have. I cannot stand to see the beauty that will never be mine. I forsake you and I forsake myself. And I go down hoping life will be a little kinder once I find my weakened soul. Once I forgive what I have chosen to hate. Once I find my way back to a life that I have forsaken along with the beauty of the drip.

Drip, drip, drip. That’s all I hear. Even on my way down to where I lost my soul. all I hear is the beauty of the drip, drip, drip. It haunts my days. It haunts my nights. Hoping to get me to believe in its powerful life. Hoping to make me see that my hate is not for it, it is for me and only me.

Drip, drip, drip. Coming for the deep green trees. Drip, drip, drip. Coming from nature’s one true beauty. Why does it not stop? Why does it follow my every move? Is this what I seek? A beauty so true and real? The beauty of nature that we all betrayed? Is it what I seek to teach myself how to forgive as It forgave us all for our unending sins?

It comes to me in an endless drip, drip, drip. But how do I learn its lesson when my one true desire is to forget its never ending drip. Forget it’s beauty. Forget its forgiveness. How do I find myself if I’m not listening to the drip, drip, drip of the deep green trees. The drip, drip, drip of my deep lost heart… 

Reviews

[Nastia]

why thank u dat is reallly sweet of both of u

[SINDE]

Writing from the heart, I guess. I can relate to your words trying to cope with despair. The drip, drip, drip seemingly answers back at you faulting your actions until you finally accept it all. You have lovely ideas Nastia.

' Is this what I seek? A
beauty so true and real? The
beauty of nature that we all
betrayed? Is it what I seek to
teach myself how to forgive as It
forgave us all for our unending
sins?
It comes to me in an endless
drip, drip, drip. But how do I
learn its lesson when my one
true desire is to forget its never
ending drip. Forget it’s beauty.
Forget its forgiveness. How do I
find myself if I’m not listening to
the drip, drip, drip of the deep
green trees. The drip, drip, drip
of my deep lost heart…'

Don't I just love that last line.

[Chris]

One can sense a dim night light, a person pen-in-hand scrawling and pausing - scrawling into a journal or diary and pausing as the thoughts go racing ahead.