Author: rbb-user-1471541 / Rich Bad Boy

rbb-user-1471541

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It began, of course, as these things so often do…

The eternal search

Magnolias

I wrote this at a time when I was still struggling after being betrayed by my ex. My poetry has helped me to heal. It reveals elements of my soul, and I hope resonates with you:

Soup for the soul

It has stood there for over 800 years old. It broke ground before the King was forced into signing the Magna Carta. It has stood whilst  Shakespeare doodled, whilst bombs and bullet

The beauty of the ancient oak…

I sat, alone. I had just eaten, alone. The only sounds in my flat were those of the rumble of traffic and the incessant ticking of the clock.&nbsp; The fish swam blissfully ignorant in the tank, as I sat and waited.

Time passes so slowly sometimes. It’s much easier when my little boy is here, but then his mother takes him home and I sit alone for days and nights on end.&nbsp; So I choose to act. I choose to try and seek out happiness, to correct the course that this desolate path takes. After all, are we not meant to be able to be masters of our own destinies.

So I wait. I wait for the one that I know I will be able to honestly call my other half. The one who will be the missing piece from the jigsaw that is my life. I wait, this time in hope.

Warmth slowly penetrates that frozen earth below.&nbsp;Like the&nbsp;Magnolia, within me there is hope,

hope that just like the ingredients in this pan

Can be reflected in my own ability to understand.

Nourishes, warms, provides, and bit by bit

I start to feel whole again. Life. A short thing

That, given it passes quickly. I want to be

Happy, I wish to be healed, I long to be free.

Like soup, I wished only to bring you the complete

Comfort that it brings, to make you feel replete

With my warmth, my kindness, my love.&nbsp;

All else, I wished only for you to want me again.

Yes, I did write this poem. It was inspired by the spring. I tend to write in order to help with anxiety, or depression.&nbsp; Words are powerful, and help us to understand the world.

To answer your question…

It has stood there for over 800 years old. It broke ground before the King was forced into signing the Magna Carta. It has stood whilst  Shakespeare doodled, whilst bombs and bullets flew, before an island controlled a quarter of the globe, before many nations were born.

I remember the first time I touched that bark, felt that wood. I realised my fingers were touching history. That this tree had been seen by so many before me and, with luck, would stand long after I am gone.

The air was warm. The smell of barley malt was sweet in the air. The trees, tall and alive, surrounded me, and I felt at peace. I’ve always loved woodland. I loved it since I was a boy, when I would walk through the woods to see my grandparents. Certain smells take me back to those moments, of a time when the world was full of wonder and delight.

Beneath me, the ground was soft, and beneath that shallow covering, I knew that roots were still growing, roots that had anchored the tree against the maelstrom of so many storms.

Just as my father held my tiny hand and talked about the woods, so I did too with my little boy. His tiny hand in mine, his wonder at all the natural beauty of the wood, it all made it all the more wondrous.&nbsp;

The past surrounds us, from ancient ruins, to aged oaks. We walk on the dust of our forebears, and we would remember that more often. The world belongs to us all, it is hateful to me that a privileged few seem to hold dominance over the natural state we live in.&nbsp; We should all take a moment, and rest against an ancient oak, and realising how brief our time is, take time to reflect, to heal, to grow.

I took an acorn, I plan to let it grow. A gift for my love, one that can be tended long after I am gone…

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