The Starving Edge

The Starving Edge

You ask me to write of new beginnings

when from

un-leaving trees

autumn blood flows,

when the talk is all of cuts carving

the trunk of consented life.

 

Such wanton speeches made sly solemnly

by those

sitting smug in

the safest seats,

feed the juggernaut of greed, taxing

fierce sacrifices from the frail.

 

Can vulnerable buds be induced at

this blood

wounded juncture?

As heedless boots

cause a crunching carpet’s golden leaves

to break down to crumbling brown.

 

The bleeding of trees and the grieving of

clouds names

November’s rise,

month of recalled

souls, as a gusted gull croaks above

the nets my words are casting.

 

Time to grieve the wounds that fester unsung,

to find

the silent rooms,

the dormant tombs

that long lain unused could prove wombs to

the remaking we ache for.

 

The true new beginning is to live stripped,

willing

and wilful at

the starving edge

of brightening days, where solstice endured

yields to winter birthing spring.

 

From Arriving in Magic – Copyright Adrian G R Scott

2 comments

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: