Oct 2014
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.
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.
Written sometime in spring 2005.
