The Cherry Blossom

There is a paradox between life and death. An inconsistency between fragility and the eternal. They fit, overlap in some places, and leave holes in other parts.


Where the wild lilies grow,

And the cherry trees cast off their satin shells,

I lie, face skyward bound,

Body echoed against the ground,

Limbs tightly held

And eyes wide, watering in the wind

Which should be warm

Yet renders heat blind,

A flame blown out but smoke still on the rise,

Signals on the hill

And in the glen

Footsteps tracking a line to your earthen den,

Boundaried and blocked

Six feet deep

I hope you have enough peace to sleep.



Amber R Walker, Hull, Creative Writer, Bookmaker, Lover of art

One thought on “The Cherry Blossom

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