weatherworn

she stood
emptied
of all hope
and happiness
a prune where
there was
once a plum
interwoven into
a tapestry of
her own
shadow streaked
contemptuous
longings
slow roasted
until her juices
boiled
splitting her
once vibrantly
colored casing
her will spread
ever so thinly
until her soul
became another
transparency drifting
on the last
breath of winter
trampling
through spring
she stood
bent by the
weightiness of
weightlessness
contradicting
her own set of
minute miseries
masked in melancholy
meandering ever closer
to the end
that now appears
to be all
she has left
still the crows
leave shiny
baubles by her
tired feet
a nest of
colored string
to entangle
the agonies
of existing
long past
the carefully
written
expiration date
a spiderweb of
wrinkles
replacing her
smooth assuredness
with weatherworn
worries

i watch through the golden haze of sunlight cascading through the evaporated dreamthistle, over the steam of coffee, i see her letting the sun bathe her face and wonder at the life she leaves in dusty sighs to blow over a still sleeping city

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s