For they who are not here. Yet.
The leaves fall down from yesteryear, from the aging tree; my soul. These leaves are grey– Not brown, nor gold, and to touch, they’re freezing cold. They’ve travelled along; through space and time, To come lie gently at my feet. Learning so much, Breathing so boldly, To just lie gently at my feet. Advertisements
The warm glow of the TV comforts me as I proceed to sleep alone tonight, as I’ve done every night since you’ve been gone. Colours dull out. Sounds shatter against deaf ears. Words loose upon my lips. -The TV is now but noise. Noise; Angry, agitated scratching against a cold and rusty door. -Your final call for the night. Soon enough I’ll drift away; To pleasant skies, And open plains. Soon enough, you’ll be the […]