Silhouette

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Silhouette

 

 

 

I'm standing before the surface of a dew pond and it seems puzzled, speaking to me in a language only those who took a small step into insane sadness can comprehend.

 

But I'm not miserable. I'm just missing something. The ripples of water amplify my ghostly reflection and I lower my head to check if it's real.

 

Ah. That is where this frosty draft is fleeting through.

 

I wait for a loyal silhouette of skin-enveloped compassion to slowly approach from behind the naked, rain-scented, damp oak trees and swathe the vacancy framed with badly healed flesh.

 

I wait for a surreal, sweet natured phantom to breath the warming winter tales.

How long do people often have to wait?

 

Reviews

[Karli]

Well, this is a real piece of poetry. It's beautiful, in such a simple, in-depth way. Good job. :)