The autumn wood have the winters brow
And the tree line holds me captive.
I run through the pleasantries but I know I cannot escape.
The gray shaded outline is filled in with a mixture of colour,
Melting into one bowl,
Dripping from the leaves.
I am ambushed by the emotions of my childhood.
Emotions long forgotten.
At least attempted.
The promise of tomorrow lingering on my lip,
Quivering and curious.
She comes out from the trees that imprison me.
Beauty flawless and without regret.
Standing with her feet bare
She says not a word, not a word shall be said.
And I shall keep my words.
She wears a smile with saddened eyes.
A simple oxymoron,
Yet the most challenging to understand.
Off her face the mask would fall.
Suppose she is tired of the role.
The gray shadows of the woods stalk her no more,
And the color once belonged has returned to her skin.
As I don the mask all I can do is wonder
If I shall see these woods once more.
