Four leaf clover

The grass tickles my
stomach and my thighs.
I roll over
and unearth
a four leaf clover.
I clasp it and wish you back
but there is no mortal thing
that can raise the dead
to life.

Copyright 2020 Leona Petrovic

One form to another

Energy cannot be
created or destroyed.
It flows from one
form to another,
seamlessly, like water.
This can be seen in the
way that the life
left your body,
in the way that all
that made you what
you were leaked out
onto the cold Autumn
ground, a warm red
waterfall ready to take
on another form.
Ready to move on.
What are you now,
I wonder to myself,
where did all that life
and energy take itself?
I guess you are a part of the
very fabric of the world,
woven into the energy
that holds the universe together.

Copyright 2020 Leona Petrovic

Image by Julia Watkins. Link: https://energyartistjulia.bigcartel.com/product/hummingbird-magic-energy-painting-giclee-print

Grief and mascara smudges

gre

Mascara smudges
under red-rimmed eyes
where tears dripped
and burned
as I scribbled on my palm
sonnets of loss and grief.

Why is existence so precarious
as if every moment is spent
standing on a crumbling bridge
or beneath a burning roof?

I wished the world to stop turning
but life kept on moving
so I learned to move on
but still
I didn’t laugh for
quite a while after.

© 2020 Leona Petrovic

Image Credit Here

This is a poem about grief and losing those you love, whether it’s because of death or because they break your heart or get tired of you or just because you drift apart. Hope you all are doing well! XO, the inkgirl

Humans can’t let go

Opposite, like dark and light.
We always run from death,
we always cling to life.
It’s the human thing to do,
we can’t seem to let go.
Searching for eternity, infinity,
we wish that we were gods.
Masters of the skies and seas.
But the only sea is in our veins,
pooling by our trembling feet,
as we realize that death has come,
as we wail and whisper please.

Death is the Only God

Death is the only god that
gives us proof of his existence.
Death is the only god that
is in any way consistent.
Death is the only god that
listens to our prayers.
Death is the only god that
doesn’t pretend to care.

I’m actually very proud of how this one turned out. I’ve been experimenting with traditional style poetry lately, and I love the end results. I still love well-written modern poetry, but there’s something about a good ol’ fashioned poem that just enchants me. Enjoy. XX