The sky, a
tattered cloudy blanket
gray-blue
empty room
The ground,
a dead leaves carpet
gold and
scarlet crispy tomb
The trees,
howling dark creatures
Woody feet
in the ground
Long knotty
arms to the sky
hopeless prayer to the setting sun
No appeal,
no struggle, still
the shadows
of the night swallow
the lonely
autumnal forest
in a
gigantic serpent bite.
The cold
darkness, triumphs
Once again
on the sleepy woods
Illusionary
victory, ancient chimera
Of the oldest
men’s fear ...
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