Chalkboard

It comes alive, in my mind. I love to personify. Everything has a story.

you may have been snow
whiter than any page
sometime before
and slowly, slowly the forest
was painted
and slowly, slowly the forest
ran together

you may miss the purity
and how clean you were
while the corners persist
edged with fine powder
maybe someday
you can go back
maybe someday

you're old and you're tired
come so close before
in all your life
the transition out of the forest
and into the white
always it is wiped away
and you are left another day
a lonesome forest

contained leaves in the trees
and dust at the seams
we don't love you or need you
be humbled