It’s late,
Nothing but the wind stirs the branches.
I’m back, yet I say nothing – do nothing.
She’s asleep… should I really savage her dreams?
Turn.
No. I shouldn’t.
An image of perfection,
In a fictitious destination,
Floating on clouds,
In heaven’s shroud.
Ruining such a tranquility would be a sin…
But since when do I care about that?
Arguments in my head,
(Wake her… she wants to see you…)
(And why would she care to see me?)
On and off, like a ball gliding to and fro –
A torch swaying in the moonlight,
A luminous baton being passed back and forth.
Darkened skies – the moon is shadowed and hidden,
I think of my brother… for a moment.
Time thinking about him is time wasted.
View User's Journal
My Poems
My poems or short stories, will be different than any other. Maybe more horror, I don't know, what do you think? Comment. Don't Steal. Don't Copy.
 |
