Hemlock
all but one lonely soul
hangs from limbs of tired trees
in a dense forests of hearts,
and endless flow of blood through leaves.
under one sky,
under one moon;
a canopy of hope
set atop a floor of dreary dead,
laid to rest in a damp field of dirt
walked upon by careless feet.
hollowed eyes stop and gaze
to see,
endlessly;
a sea of worried beasts
stomping through a muddy path.
and through the weeds
a breeze shall breath
a quiet call,
and put to sleep
a lonely me.
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