The Now ( an Homage )

I heard a whisper
Nothing more
High above me
Eyes don’t drift, nor
Can I pinpoint
Words gone ashore
Leafless branches
Whisper doors
Cracking open seeds
That fall to the floor
Around my feet
That fall to my core
That startle me.

I tremble so slightly
For the warning set before
The sinking sun soothes
Yet there hang the graveyard clothes I once wore
The whispers are coming
Afraid I can be, no more
Here come the ice cold breaths seen in air
Cold, as old as ancient lore.

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Photo by Yann Mabille
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