| A manifest of this crucified hope.
|
| Familiar sound, reflecting his own blood.
|
| Haunting, yet intriguing.
|
| No watcher, no lock,
|
| only the sweet voice.
|
| Daringly stepped out
|
| to see things clear.
|
| Gone before he could see the face.
|
| Left was urge to seek.
|
| Drops of autumn fell
|
| on trembling leaves,
|
| red from summer’s departure,
|
| weak from lack of light.
|
| The Leaves were torn and so was he,
|
| as he tried to follow her trace.
|
| A winterly wind embraced his throat
|
| and tried its best to strangle.
|
| What kept him going was what had left him.
|
| It was what he couldn’t keep.
|
| Kept hunting ancient traces,
|
| following flickering lights.
|
| This ghost was sculpted by his
|
| desire to say goodbye.
|
| Could left the hollow sky,
|
| as it swallowed all its sorrow.
|
| Nearly breathless,
|
| he grasped the nearest branch.
|
| The voice reappeared,
|
| and now he felt sure that it was her,
|
| so he did his best
|
| to force his feet along.
|
| A scarlet dress in the wind.
|
| Shadows on stumps of once mighty trees
|
| spread rumors of her presence.
|
| Looked into her eyes and took her hand.
|
| This imagined warm touch was his relief.
|
| Kneeling at her feet, ready for his sleep.
|
| Had no longer wish to arise.
|
| Put her arm around him, no more cries.
|
| Slept there until the fierce cold awoke
|
| to erase all tracks of life. |