“the wind blew with a sigh and the trees bent
not unlike a mortician bends over the shell of a soul
scalloped in just the right places”
she lay there, on the cement path
not quite sure why
the chipped slab was so cold in the month of may
the wind blew with a sigh and the trees bent
not unlike a mortician bends over the shell of a soul
scalloped in just the right places
concealing the dread of a person with many secrets
just like the bends and knots in the tall oak tree across the road
he started off small, just as everyone else does
not quite sure why
he couldn’t hold on to dreams he had stored in his head
but
listening to the untold whispers that liars carried through her ears
washing the dreams that he once owned into a river of lost hopes
unanimous, they are together.
to clump their misery into a ball
and pitch it off the edge of the eternal abyss called night.
