A wooded glade webbed
Under a scale of stars
Mind suffering inquisition
As if stuffed in a jar
Then silver glows
Through crisp winter leaves
Yet shadows all dissipate
As I rise to my knees
Behind each minute, second
A forest of time
Clouds ebbing further
With the moon and stars inside
A pale instinct
As humble as a home
Each thought feels wind torn;
The price of being alone
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 5:35 PM UTC
A wooded glade webbed
Under a scale of stars
Mind suffering inquisition
As if stuffed in a jar
Then silver glows
Through crisp winter leaves
Yet shadows all dissipate
As I rise to my knees
Behind each minute, second
A forest of time
Clouds ebbing further
With the moon and stars inside
A pale instinct
As humble as a home
Each thought feels wind torn;
The price of being alone
Written last winter sitting in a near by common
