Tuesday, November 30, 2021

The Valley of Death

A tree standing all alone on the bank of a rivulet, watching a small forest on the other side.

 

The lined up shadows

Of walking dreams

Kept marching on

In the creamy spell

Of camouflaged vows.

 

Down the withering

Valley of death

They kept strolling in blinded bouts

Under a wavering cast of clouds

And the flickering

Fireflies beneath.

 

Suddenly the Moon rose high

And the dreams ceased

To fly

Into the cemetery

Of Hopes, Colors and Sighs.


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