This Plot

Whispers, like the rustling of leaves
Tumbling through plots
Of dawns and sunsets
yet to come;
that have been left to stand
on land that has become home
to just weeds-
ruining beauty, eating away at life,
eliminating a future
based on promises, sweet.

This plot-
once gazed upon with plans,
gleeful shrieks of what could be-
what would be,
but that became nothing.
Nothing at all.

What was loved, anticipated
becoming what I wish not to even look upon
whilst being what brought me
once-
immense joy,
I now with hollow an deserted
bitterness
hold on to, in some way
to prove that the price paid
could have been,
should have been
worth it,
for my soul.

I shall walk away, too
Looking back only as a reminder
When foolishness threatens to befall-
a decision requiring deeper contemplation
than a thoughtless act,
for when the pain of rejection
renders me reckless.

Releasing what was once treasured
cripples something within the soul-
replaced by supports,
equipped with sufficient
tools
to uphold one
When a new home mocks.

And then whispers replaced with humming.