Past the last tree
I ventured once
Do not ask why:
I’ve long forgot.
There’s little there
To mend the soul
To take a thread
And stitch it whole.
Things seems to start
To fade away
An endless darkness
Is fornever at bay.
Can’t see by fingers
Or hear my voice
Was this a dark design,
Or was it my choice?
The ground begins
To smell like dust
The little water
Tastes of rust,
And what’s become
Of other thoughts?
They I long miss
And for I’ve long sought.
And any future begins
To recede away
So that “normal” thoughts
Do feel quite fey.
A hint of flame
Would break this trance
But nothing warm
Would dare advance
Beyond the borders
Of the last tree
Nothing, that is,
Except me.
So what did happen
After that, you ask?
But how should I know –
In oblivion I bask
Now, and I cannot
See the day
Beyond the darkness’
Cloudy fray.
YOU ARE READING
Butterfly Ripples
PoesíaButterfly ripples through water and wind fluttering petals, whispering wings. Words swing 'round trees carried in a breeze of butterfly ripples so do as you please. But don't taunt their song of water and wind: to it they belong and so they will sin...
