I thought you were gone,
but what was there
to begin with?
There were no mirrors, or windows,
only the air that rests
between leaves,
no wind,
save what we made ourselves.
A few roots though,
for a token's sake, and
an illusion's speech.
Entwined like those
two wolves of lore.
Little pities-
we burned minutiae,
and made nothing of the forest.
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 1:07 PM UTC
I thought you were gone,
but what was there
to begin with?
There were no mirrors, or windows,
only the air that rests
between leaves,
no wind,
save what we made ourselves.
A few roots though,
for a token's sake, and
an illusion's speech.
Entwined like those
two wolves of lore.
Little pities-
we burned minutiae,
and made nothing of the forest.
Request permission to use this poem