*The dark, fog, shadows... Sunset...
The sharp sound of a ****** of crows in a carrion tree
that has more stories to tell than the earth itself.
Slight chilling breeze
Ropes slowly swing
Specked with blood, from past lives.
The face, crying upon a rock, as if it were tears of crimson.
Echoes of children through the hollow air.
But there is nothing*
...
Nothing at all
You are alone.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 1:36 PM UTC
*The dark, fog, shadows... Sunset...
The sharp sound of a ****** of crows in a carrion tree
that has more stories to tell than the earth itself.
Slight chilling breeze
Ropes slowly swing
Specked with blood, from past lives.
The face, crying upon a rock, as if it were tears of crimson.
Echoes of children through the hollow air.
But there is nothing*
...
Nothing at all
You are alone.
Found another very old writing of mine, it was also paired with a drawing (I maybe have 2-3 total drawings in my lifetime) . In the drawing there is an abandoned church, a large dead tree in the center, a busted swing set, a rock with a moss covered face and a small cemetery.
Written sometime in spring 2005.
