Dandelions

I hold onto some things too tight.

Not setting suns, or the taste

of chocolate melting in my mouth;

but resentments. And then, not even

 

resentment for what was done and

forgiven at the time;

but resentment,

that it happened at all and that

I even had to forgive it.

 

And they feel like something solid

and real, like rocks in my hand

or sticks I can grip and swing

at enemies or ghosts; substantial

Until one day

 

someone suggests that it might just

be a story I like and not really

even true any longer or even useful;

and as I nod my assent, they melt away

 

dissolved. Like chocolate, they don’t

even leave a bad taste, they just

slip below the horizon, carried

away in the evening breeze

 

like a dandelion, dead and grey

blown in a thousand directions;

no more resembling the yellow flower

it was, then that resentment

 

resembled the hope from which it had sprung.

 

Sometimes I write poetry, and for better or worse,  I will share some of it on this blog of mine. Til the next move, 

Enjoy your practice
Dorian