Soft Grey Sleep
The pain is crystal clear like the moon, a crescent sickle
Touching my heart which is bleeding tears.
Black crows sit on bare branches in bleak trees.
I cut the wings off my soul.
Do they know of my dreams?
I mourn the questions I don’t ask,
The word I do not say.
Afraid to seek a way,
I hide behind a mask.
Fog embraces me
With infinite tenderness.
Rain
falls
in
my
heart.
The soul pulls the mantle close.
Life can be a soft grey sleep.
August 31, 2016
Contest: Challenge- Write one
Sponsored by Broken Wings
Epigram - Kimo- Enclosed Rhyme - Tanka
1st place
Judged 9/8/2016
Copyright © Agnes Krampe | Year Posted 2016
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