A poem about impressions that live on.
Chasing pleasures, those worthwhile moments
billowing resonance...some melodiously soothing
worries away, a pot of thoughts stirred with good
intention clockwise, bringing fruition to desires;
everything that came before has somewhere to flow,
destiny unknown; but like the natural sweet melody
of listening energy warming memories of so long ago,
submitting strikes a chord revealing itself when least
music cascading like willow tree surrendering leaves
to sudden breeze, where pulse beats swiftly...breathless
as birds migrating,
while base of mossy trunk's bark softly drenched
in embrace of Autumn's approaching sweet chant,
soothing as dripping honey, where whimsical murmur
of forest mystery awaits pleasures serene,
perhaps secrets uncovered beneath rustling fallen leaves,
are like hidden pressed papery petals of beauty; waiting
to be discovered between pages of well read old books,
just as that which is obscured...essence still remains;
will continuation surrender clear contrast between
what was once alive, yet elusively transcending
environment, reinforcing everything fleeting or enduring.
An explaination of this poem.
The first part is talking about concentrating on positive thoughts
that are clear and vibrant, bringing goodness out of the shadows
that maybe hiding...that's one impression discovered.
Feelings from the past have an impact on who we are now, only
when we think about it, do we realize just how much, like hearing
favourite music from our past, and understanding how much of
an impression it made on us, like the willow tree surrendering its
leaves, our hearts beat like the wings of birds with exhilaration of
The last part of the poem, is how the forest embraces impressions,
like the seasons changing, with autumn soon approaching, not with
fear or worry, but acceptance, concentrating on its pleasures of
forest neighbourhood impressions,
There are cones and acorns hidden beneath that remain to form
new life, but which we don't realize because we don't get to nurture
except when we collect and take home to look at...then they leave
Just as what is hidden in forest, its essence still remains, just as we
have our memories of loved ones now passed on, the recollections
maybe fleeting in our busy lives, but they are enduring.
Hope this explains better my poem and thank you for reading.