A solitary tree upon an isolated hill.
The willow sways it's rhythmic dance in expectation of an August gale.With leaves abound
awaiting to camouflage the ground to a carpet of golden canvas.A winters prelude.
As presuemed,out of somewhere the tempest shows forth with winds that bend her and a
sweeping rain that stings with bite.With tenacious roots bounded to earth and stone,against
the force of relentlessness she strains to hold ground.
Upon clearing,nakedness.
Stripped of her jewels,her blossoms....her leaves,an elegance that will no longer paint these
day lit skies.Spookish clouds give way the bluish heavens. Unknown to the weariness,birds pause upon familiar perches
With no colors to turn in Octobers skies she weds a leafless fall,but yet through
endurance,she remains.
The end
Categories:
spookish, hope, life, passion
Form: Prose Poetry
Halloween.
Even with the pumpkins of fire,
it is a spookish night.
Masks,
camouflage true
identitys.
A masquerade
of sorts.
Enchantresses
in
barely there
costumes.
Myths,
with
elaborate witches,
hiding
behind
voodoo
told
with such conviction.
Youth
obsessed with
sugarcoated candys.
All set
in the limelight
ironically
it all takes place
amongst
the onyx night.
Shadows
stealing time
as they glance,
inspecting them
for vampires.
The time lapsing
is a refreshing
break
for those who
are haunted
everyday.
Categories:
spookish, holiday,
Form: Free verse