Under the winter day’s
whispery glow,
all is quiet here.
This is my shattering.
No more hymns of breath.
Just waiting beside my tombstone.
Dressed wildly in vines of time.
Had you been a ghost too,
would you have noticed me?
Must death be the only way?
Bound now to a casket,
may I escape this grave
to speak to you?
It has been so long.
Warm this mausoleum
with your gaze.
See me. See me, now.







Awesome! Great write. Love the atmosphere. Bookmarking this one.