u/ElectricalSound5500

This is my third day of writing daily poems. To see the previous day, see: https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/i55wVn3EXl

Hues once so vibrant, lost in enlightenment,
the acceptance dimming a flickering study lamp.
Grass outside grows muddy and brown
from gentle shoes walking through blades,
an internal reminder placed in every step.

Conversations freeze in throats,
laughter once apparent seems distant.
Required words loom further and further away
as life passes, short time left until my name
becomes unfamiliar on soft lips, past lives
forgotten by some, yet lingering in teary eyes.

Tears fall as mist, a haze of retrospection
upon vibrant times, where the pleasant thrived.
Familiarity, unshattered. Minds, hopeful.
Blinding layers of quilted illusion
warm hearts, warm souls into comfort.
Fabrics unravel in regret, snug clouds cool
into crystals of cold, raw emotion.

I freeze, devoid of the mist that blanketed me,
hoping upon soft hands to thaw my life, though knowing those pristine fingers would grow cold on the ice brings me shame. Let me freeze in baneful solitude.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/TxD9dUBDSj
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/vxGKIBbUmF

This is my second day of posting daily poems. To see the previous poem, see:
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/vM3dXL2Lf9

A slow breeze, yet ever persistent, they march
on from mountains eroded further each day
to distant horizons which sun must parch.
Greed to tumbleweed. Grass to hay.

There is no beginning, no true end
to those turbulent blusters. Winds of change
remain at motion regardless of what you intend.
Days grow long. Children enter the firing range.

A bird of prey waits upon a crawling corpse.
Winds of change amplify the waiting warps.
For those who see not the future ash
Await to be stored away in a photographer’s cache.

Though those who see those future destinations
may change the path of incoming detonations.
In a world where the future lies uncertain,
One’s eyes cannot be blinded by smoke and curtain.

Edit 1: Just realised I referred to a cache lighting up lol
Comment Proofs:
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/lgterembOd
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/jGKpWwwx0n

My grandfather used to say discoloured apples
are a lesser produce. That such brown blotches
are a testament to their lack of succulence.

He scoured at its flesh, left the apple to rot in compost
to feed a future generation of flawless fruit.

Mottled apples remain apples.
They have seeds, for future young;
They have flesh, untainted and sweet;
And their trees date back centuries,
surviving years of abuse from hurricane winds,
weathering charged bolts and drought,
counting growth rings until the warm summer days return.

Edit 1: Changed the last 2 lines (based on criticism and my personal distaste for them)
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/I0yKvOoZuT
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/FR3TRPnmNy