“Maybe one day”, is too far away.
A certain answer, yes or no,
Is the remedy.
And if you can’t say yes,
Then the answer is no.
Maybe used to mean
A place of possibility
Then it soon turned into
‘just wait.’
Now 'maybe' is a no.
I will face it now.
Alone.
Standing with my hands in the air.
I will reach up to my God
Who will deliver me
From the pain
And anguish
Of losing something
That I never really had
After all.
The leaves floated by.
I grasped the air
For a crunchiness
To feel in my palms
Because at least it was feeling something.
I looked off in the distance
And saw the young trees
Believing that the tiny pieces that
Flew out of my hands
Would land on fertile soil
And would take root.
But I didn’t look close enough to
What was in my hands.
The brown dried leaves
Contained no seeds.
And dead leaves produce nothing.
I thought I felt a seed in my palm
But maybe it was only a thorn
From the dried stem.
Or maybe it was a seed
But was barren on the inside
Full of air, nothing else
The dried leaves on the ground, though,
Aren’t for nothing
They cover the wet soil.
They will make darkness for someone
Else’s seeds.
I will still reach up, grasping for dried leaves
And I will rub them between my hands.
Next time, though, I will look carefully at what is
Laying in my palms
Before casting the leaves to the wind.
Because 'maybes' don't always have seeds.
