deepundergroundpoetry.com
Retreating Shadows
Lonesome Christmas
On a Holy Dark night,
I sit on the window sill.
I watch from the inside,
branches standing eerily still.
No moon, or stars
No light or reflection.
Baring memories in shards.
As my soul breathes in exasperation.
The Shadows they stretch
with unearthly ease.
As if carefully sketched,
to move with the breeze.
Time ticks on by,
the silence ceases.
As outside,
the symphony increases.
Trapped by intangible walls,
I am locked in by pain.
Only able to look at the snow flakes fall,
I'm shackled by invisible chains.
Waving at no one in particular,
people pass unbothered by my throes.
I stare at expressions as unfamiliar,
as retreating shadows.
On a Holy Dark night,
I sit on the window sill.
I watch from the inside,
branches standing eerily still.
No moon, or stars
No light or reflection.
Baring memories in shards.
As my soul breathes in exasperation.
The Shadows they stretch
with unearthly ease.
As if carefully sketched,
to move with the breeze.
Time ticks on by,
the silence ceases.
As outside,
the symphony increases.
Trapped by intangible walls,
I am locked in by pain.
Only able to look at the snow flakes fall,
I'm shackled by invisible chains.
Waving at no one in particular,
people pass unbothered by my throes.
I stare at expressions as unfamiliar,
as retreating shadows.
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