The creek

I often find my spirit
In the silence of the trees
Drawn on a canvas of late October.
My walks have led me
To a strange, cold scene -
I close my eyes, tender the breeze
Of falling, mourning leaves.

And I'm falling too, gently -
Caressed by the air once more,
The led sky will gore
My skin into rusty pieces,
My sight in creases,
Before I breathe out,
Gently.

I've also found my heart.
Dry, thin...thin and weak,
Lieing on the ground -
Diving into the sound
Of crushed agonies
The silenced pains,
Under my feet -
And I crushed it...
Crush it again,
For I must keep walking
Through this morbid creek,
This feeling of horrid stalking.

I've lost my life in the silence
Of forgotten, closed eyelids.
The horror... I can't stand
The breathing of sulfur air
In nightmares, in prayers
Of a crooked soul on a leaf,
Falling, dieing, sinking in
This painting of quiet trees
I used to hold within.

Reviews

[Distant horizons]

exocative words. great write.

[Robin]

through these words I am walking by you , I watch your eyes , how they move , how they shuffle between the now and shadows of the past , and as I listen to the spirit of the trees against this pre-winter backdrop , I feel - you

Outstanding serene piece of truth, can relate to this. Your imagery is technicolor!

[Seshat Nidaba]

Aw I loved this, you just got under my skin. You make melancholy beautiful, just like I remember you usually do.