The Grass Is Dead on the Other Side
The Grass is Dead on the Other Side
By Daniel Wyman
Montpelier High School, Grade 12
I feel ripped from a tapestry
Taped hastily
To the facing wall
Only to watch the hole I’ve left.
Morning, I watch my void
Voraciously
Wishing to return
Now light edges in, illuminating
The easy brush strokes from which I was torn;
A scenery coming clear
Of inviting white light, bordered by cherubs
Carefree and safe.
Midday, my past position glares
As if to cast blame on me
Implying with a stare
Infidelity
But I can only gaze in want
And hurt at my rejection
While gardens and doves join the cherubs
In beauteous insurrection
They rejoice in notes of splendor
And songs of lovers.
Night, I squint at the remains;
My old outer edges blurring
But reflecting still
Their reverie.
The skewed cherubs fade and doves fly away;
Gardens grow thin to grass
Until
There is no anything, there lies a frame.
But I lay bordered by limitless boundaries
And after tears my paint may run.
