Treasure Island

Matthew English

(4/2/1995 / Kent; The Garden of England)


Ambedo n. a kind of melacholic trance in which you become completely absorbed in vivid sensory details

I hear the wind pass my ears
as I watch the consequent sway of the deciduous trees
and, ripple of the beaten lake.
Recalling memories, tears and sadness;
a melancholy just like the changing seasons.
The larger the ripples, louder the breeze- the deeper
my subconscious indulges.
The leaves brown, and fall as my sanity fades away
revealing the hopelessness hidden in my soul.
This ambedo i suffer- The world moves forwards evident in my sight,
but my mentality stuck in reverse.
Noting the change in light- from morning to evening,
a tree stem a’yonder evolves. I think i see a person, am i dreaming?
A beauty of the night, illusion to my broken mind- change in gear.
The rose in my cheeks illuminates subsequent to the atmosphere-
ignorance to bliss.
The fabric now flowing hair, i dream your appearance.
Glistening beauty and the whistle of the wind your sweet voice
like birdsong to my ear.
Sunrise- the only real beauty.
But to me only illuminates the reinstated ugly truth.
My oasis now, nevermore. Left with-
The sound of wind passing my ears as,
I watch the consequent sway of the deciduous trees and ripple of the beaten lake.

Submitted: Wednesday, April 10, 2013
Edited: Tuesday, October 08, 2013

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