last year's leaves

I don't handle winter very well, or being stuck for that matter.

Tracing a worn path

In the confines of my soul

Tinny voices mimic

 the secrets once

whispered by the heart’s own

 

Waiting for the sap to run in my veins

 

The screams no one heard

Rattle in my bones,

Like the bird cage around my heart,

all feathers and brass.

 

Last years Grey Land can become this winter’s Bitter Holly Tree

Damaging the unsuspecting dancer.

 

Bones should stay in the ground. 

Author's Note

still a work in progress, but I wanted to get this up to show to a friend. I'm about half-way through butchering this thing.

Reviews

[_mal]

This is very good, I'd leave it like this if I were you. Some beautiful imagery here