• trippy_potato 5w


    The sapling has withered:
    Rust and cold in the windwhips
    That lacerate it's hollow husk,
    The mind no more tethered
    To the tyranny of closing walls
    And the moroseness of dusk.
    Caterpillar clouds graze
    The last of warmth in eve,
    And folds gain 'neath eyelids
    Like the wastelands percieved.
    And of transient love one thinks,
    Of bone-wrought day-dreams;
    And the trickle of ruby beads
    That accompany unmaking.

    My lover, the retainer,
    Of flesh borne kindness
    Is the sun's heat
    That meets me
    As I descend into darkness.
    And also the leaflets
    That dance and hold me
    Transfixed, unwinced
    At Cliff's edge unconvinced.
    And lullabies in shifting
    Wind whisps that amble
    In the dead eve
    Of the withering,
    Of the shortlived bramble.