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Ghosts among bluebells
We stood among bluebells
just the two of us,
our feet swept along the grass
and we were ghosts.
So silent
we couldn’t let ourselves be heard
for fear of being discovered.
For fear of them knowing
we
like the bluebells
like the thrush’s song
like the ash trees
like the dace
like the stream they swim in
like the dusty cobble walls of some church
are alive.
That’s what we tell ourselves at least
and because there is no other option
we believe it to be true
until it isn’t
and one of us gets pushed off some cliff
or spills a bluebell confession
from their lips.
And we continue to walk in forested purgatory.
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Inspired by the novel 1984, I wanted to convey some of the deeper philosophical thoughts that the novel conveyed. I think the writing is incredibly beautiful and thought-provoking, and the image of bluebells and dace swimming in a stream was too much to ignore!