Poetry

I catch the sadness
of gray woods. Stone by
stone, gathering the twilight
of fall.
 
Would you walk with me,
my fallen peaks,
to witness the cold and wet
dark?
 
A deep silence sings
in my inside. I scoop
out the golden hole of
pain.
 
The endless pathway,
where, you will find my
immortal verse kissing the
white snow.