Alliterate
beings bound about
Illiterate
minds cast shade in doubt
Literary
figures stand strong
In
this day and those beyond
Flash.
Flow
of the cold winter air. Circulating
In
weathered strips of fermentation, the tears oft get lost in the creases-
Freely
the fear freckles form
Uncanny. A familiarity still-
As
you’re left staring up the hill
Stone
paths pronounced the trail
To
the chapel house:
Where blackened shoes make their mark
Where wandering alibis come for their own
Where the darkness forms a cloud of clothes
Black and brown suits and slacks
Filtered grey veiled masks
In
the interlude between patience and angst
“They
keep the grounds very nicely, even with the snow and being so close to the road
and all,”
“Yep, there’s never a sign of debris, nowhere”
Words.
That’s
all that remains.
Words
and memories of words and the way we attempt recreating images from those
words.
Some
are distilled to paint the lines.
Some
distort the lanes of time.
Others…
Are
just words,
In
a void,
Colorless
and disturbed
Sometimes
I wonder as you wait:
Do you feel lonesome?
Does the emptiness within consume you?
If
it does I am dearly sorry
But
rest assured-
It
won’t be that way for ever-
And
then…you’ll have me for eternity
