Wednesday, November 5, 2014

Still can't decide if I miss the hell out of you...or just the idea of you

Seeds Planted in November
L. Anna Lenz

The cold late autumn air froze illegitimate tears.
Your name burned a hole in an empty stomach.
A holy prayer was unable to pass over this sinner’s lips,
so I said nothing as everyone said their goodbyes.
Then your face turned to stone and I could not recognize you in the crowd.

A candle still burns in the basement, I thought you should know
The frost killed the seeds we planted in November.
We were just burying the dead that night.
In the spring nothing grew,
But the mud soaked tendrils of stubborn roots that fought against the frozen ground
Would mock me come March.

Because we were only pretending.
We were just burying the dead that night,
Knowing in the Spring nothing would grow.
And the words whispered too low to hear could be seen in the cold, late autumn air
As we planted our seeds in November.

The low hanging sun set fire to the sky
And the world was dying around us
but we were only pretending
To breathe life into lifeless wishes
Whispering words too low to hear, but that could be seen in the cold, late autumn air.
We were just burying the dead that night.

Forgive me, but since you’ve turned to stone
I can’t recognize your face among the crowd.
And they say God is watching this place
I fear the prayers in my heart will just turn into a curse
As they pass over this sinner’s lips.
But I am only pretending
The frost will kill these seeds that I plant each November.
I am just burying the dead tonight.