Sherzahd, 25 december 2011
The rickety old porch swing creaks under my weight
As I rock myself gently to and fro.
The sound comforts me
As it rips harshly into the painful silence of the night.
So I continue to rock,
My feet never leaving the ground,
The swing never being allowed to do what it was built to do.
The creaking comforts me.
The rocking soothes me.
No crickets chirping here tonight.
No frogs croaking.
Only silence.
And the sound of a creaking old porch swing.
A darkened field stretches endlessly before me.
Trees swaying gently on the autumn breeze,
Their branches pointing heavenward
Like outstretched arms in glorious praise of an unseen deity.
All but the weeping willow,
Her shoulders slumped in woe.
Always mourning the loss of love,
Her once erect form now bowed in sorrow
As the moon casts her silvery glow across the land.
It feels wrong. It feels impure.
No light should enter here tonight.
Cursed fickle orb of light!
Do you not know, you are not welcome here tonight.
Terms of use | Privacy policy | Contact
Copyright © 2010 truml.com, by using this service you accept terms of use.
27 september 2024
Zapachniało powiewem jesieni,Eva T.
27 september 2024
2709wiesiek
27 september 2024
After SeparationsSatish Verma
26 september 2024
2909wiesiek
26 september 2024
Wyblakła miłość.Eva T.
26 september 2024
Jak mrówka z biedronkąJaga
26 september 2024
Incomplete ThoughtsSatish Verma
25 september 2024
Usiłowałem liczyć owce,Eva T.
25 september 2024
2509wiesiek
25 september 2024
To Tell The TruthSatish Verma