Her Withering Petals

A manifest of this crucified hope
Familiar sound, reflecting his own blood
Haunting, yet intriguing
No watcher, no lock
Only the sweet voice.

Daringly stepped out
To see things clear
Gone before he could see the face
Left was urge to seek
Drops of autumn fell
On trembling leaves
Red from summer's departure
Weak from lack of light.

The Leaves were torn and so was he
As he tried to follow her trace
A winterly wind embraced his throat
And tried its best to strangle
What kept him going was what had left him
It was what he couldn't keep.

Kept hunting ancient traces
Following flickering lights
This ghost was sculpted by his
Desire to say goodbye.

Could left the hollow sky
As it swallowed all its sorrow
Nearly breathless
He grasped the nearest branch
The voice reappeared
And now he felt sure that it was her
So he did his best
To force his feet along.

A scarlet dress in the wind
Shadows on stumps of once mighty trees
Spread rumors of her presence
Looked into her eyes and took her hand.

This imagined warm touch was his relief
Kneeling at her feet, ready for his sleep
Had no longer wish to arise
Put her arm around him, no more cries
Slept there until the fierce cold awoke
To erase all tracks of life.