After writing this poem, I recalled with great outlook, the story 2 people close to me that are undergoing chemo for cancer. They talk about the hair falling off and the sore from radiation and the beating the skin takes. They both can't wait to be well again and celebrate with everyone, their journey. To those afflicted with this cause, I wish you well
perennial peers peeping poignantly at spring
before them appears the red hot glow in the black sky
she melts with the horizon as she fades away
revealing the shadows of the peers slowly across the still spring
revealing its bald hands all spread out like an octopus
revealing its nakedness and wrinkles of which time
has left deep scars on its trunk
the spring, the water, the mirror, the reflected image of a two lone giants
spread eagle across the face of the water
as though both trying to grab onto each other with every ripple
a sacred experience of the spring giants
ruined by the death grip of the cold fall...
let the spring tears, bring life
let us whistle in the wind
The spring water is the people
The reflected image is what the people see you going through
The Sun, which causes the reflection we see, is the Charity organizations, or media outlet through which sometimes, these stories break to us
The scars on the trunk is the sores on the nails and toes
The bald hands, the leafless branches, is the balding they experience
Spring itself is the hope that life will be back to normal after treatment
Whistle in the wind is the victory dance
Life imitates art, so feel free to draw on your experiences and not mine as you read through.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.