A creeping mist descends and trails a forest floor
Light fails to penetrate this complex mesh of wood
Flakes of muted bark start to self erode
Producing an ill odour that follows the morning fog
Under the guise of shade, death stumbles blind through the maze
Hunger smeared on his dry lips as he seeks a victim
Memories of yesterdays rain stirs a sticky, chew worthy substance
That smears the uneven pathways consuming fallen branches
Snapped sharp bones pierce a reflective pond
Stick shaped ice bergs, blown on an ill wind of fate
Sour blood remains brushed to the stubborn shallow banks
Cursed and twisted wreckage perfumes the still air
Every drop of colour, mopped up by an absorbent sponge
That dabs the limits of this forgotten grave yard
A stubborn erect slab of marble etched with random Words
Considered wise proverbs that blur into the ink of night
Framed in sharp rusty spears that proudly guard still souls
Dreaming the eternal dream, every books final page
Cradled in a valley of death where even time exhaled a final breath
And the frozen hands are statues, monuments to yesterday
Never stumble upon or seek find this event ending place
It will one day find you and invite a final place to fall?
© Copyright 2016 Philip H20s. All rights reserved.
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