Orphans

Orphans

A Poem by Beccy

The leaves flourished for a time,
then became treeless.
Abandoned by bare bark,
they came together in  
long bladed grass;
played hide and seek,
danced with each other
in fading sunlight;
A compensation
of sorts.

Some, blessed with good fortune,
became one with the wind;
little travelers searching
for salvation, their passing
a celebration of rebirth.
Others, the glow of gold still
on them, were harvested
by sharp eyed predators;
used for the feathering
of nests.

Most though, simply hid in dark corners,
became skeletal ghosts, revealing
their inner fragility as they
slowly decayed. Whilst above,
profiled against a tear
clouded sky, those that
once nurtured, bowed
their heads en masse,
as autumn wane to
winter darkness passed.

© 2021 Beccy


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Such a fine metaphor here Beccy. We are just like the leaves on a tree. Birthed in spring, flourishing in summer, through to free falling and then gone, until the cycle starts again with our children and their children. Thought provoking, especially today on father's day and I miss mine so much. Such beautiful poetic expression in this write.

Chris

Posted 3 Days Ago


dear Becky... your words are compassionate and touch my soul... we are all Orphans in some way or form. We try to survive every year until someday we will fly away and discover the mysteries. tenderly, Pat

Posted 1 Month Ago


Of course, the leaves are a metaphor for humanity. When we leave "the tree" and emerge into the separateness, our paths have different endings, some more pleasant than others. Many of us do end up dried and decayed. How that happens can be told only through millions of individual stories. As to the real leaves, my only question concerns why so many of them end up in my driveway.

Posted 2 Months Ago


One of the most brilliant extended metaphors I've seen based on trees & leaves! You've taken this comparison all the way into the mighty zephyr! I love how this works as a fulsome tree scenario, but I also love every nuance that harkens to the way people get old/irrelevant, dry up & drop off (I've done this in my old age & I'm quite satisfied with the results), some blowing around to ramble new meadows & others getting stuck under a moldy log (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

Posted 2 Months Ago


from my perspective (a plant scientist) this is part of the cycle of life...the disintegrating leaves nourishing the roots of the forest soil...I love the smell of the earth

Posted 2 Months Ago


'Others, the glow of gold still on them, were harvested by sharp eyed predators; used for the feathering
of nests. .. Most though, simply hid in dark corners, became skeletal ghosts, revealing their inner fragility .... '

There's more than words in your poem. Beccy. You've always been aware of fragile innocence, how it hangs on a tenuous thread. So often you use beautiful phrasing to introduce emotion then dive into the ugliness of time, age, cruelty in circumstance. Here you've offered a sense of happenings via Nature then.. sped to that last stanza which hurts to read; eyes, mind have to edge away from the literary to look harder and deeper to see truth .its ugliness and pain. Loss in all its guises is strongly present here.

Posted 3 Months Ago


Beccy

2 Months Ago

Thank you for understanding the heart of this.

Beccy. X
emmajoy

2 Months Ago

It;s always my pleasure, you know that. Will be in touch, dear friend. Happy day, happy thoughts... read more
Allegorically, this is such a good piece. From my eye, the children finally let go of the tree, the parents become bare and lonely as the kids move on to life....some end up finding success and fortune, and some end up in the streets...there seems so little in between these days.
and winter kills...
j.

Posted 3 Months Ago



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Added on March 24, 2021
Last Updated on March 24, 2021

Author

Beccy
Beccy

Northampton, Northamptonshire, United Kingdom



About
I'm forty three, single and have a lovely thirteen year old son called Charlie. I've been writing poetry and short stories since I can remember. I have always been an assiduous reader of poetry and re.. more..

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