Progress

Deep sleep yielding Spring

Leaving Winter leaves paling 

Knowing Summer brings out

My preferred hues

I wish I still felt warm, even 

With small percentages of protection

Still, my gathered limbs fall limp

Baring brown eyes like a sunset 

After someone smears 

It muddy

Budding blooms of Spring

Birthed from Winters contours

Summer filled rhubarb pies

With strawberry topping

I wish I still felt young, even

Though fleeting and meaningless

Still, my supple dreams breath

Burdened by memories lost 

Within a dusty photo album

With no title

Widen my eyes, would you?

For once, I’ll wait here

Until you bring me something 

Worth the ink

Reviews

[barleygirl]

This message feels tumbling, fading in & out between one season & another, between one state of mind and another. I love how this relates to the title word, as if these fumbling efforts to express oneself constitute progress, even if we never get the feeling that this narrator actually makes it to her goal of writing something, then you end it with a snarky challenge, like someone else, someone "out there" should have supplied a topic worth the ink! Nice way to surrender to one's inability to get it out in words! (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Franky]

This is imàginative and sweet. I like the flow.

[Sarah Jane]

Thank you!