Becoming Invisible
Painted in twilight grey,
the stars dangle low
over a far vallev where willows bend
in a lone shade,
creating lines of a face
disappearing from hazy blur...
Upon stars, a wish holds this sigh
with yearning that you'll be here
to raise my eyes warm as sprinatime
through your warmest afterglow;
Now I yearn for time shimmering
when the pond was our ripple of ardor
and how the waves would tremble
while I held the arms waxing the night.--
You never said your heart grew frail
as we ruffled through leaves of byways
mimicking voices on the radio
till lonely tunes stab me, dying along with you.
11/10/2017
Contest of Craig Hawkins:
Depression and Sadness
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