Ravens cast shadows -
air is crisp and thin,
autumn chips away at
where I have to live.
Grass is manicured -
drying into rough,
another lonely weekend -
another lonely month.
No one visits here -
truth told, they never have,
dirt fills the corners -
the spirit's gone flat.
Past is polluted -
I know it be fact,
you'd think there'd be one left
who still gave a damned.
Forgotten, forsaken -
the moon starts to rust,
discover my value -
how pointless I was.
Thought I had impact -
if not many friends,
these last years are lessons
and here are the ends.
Vines on wrought irons -
I cannot break free,
bounced between markers -
the wind's silent scream.
I'd love to escape this but
I am locked here for time,
the light fades to empty...
the edges of life.
Copyright © 2011 Stone Bryson. All Rights Reserved.
Included in the e-book, "Walls of Shadow"
Written February 2011
Known in many (albeit small) online circles over the past 15 years, Stone Bryson is a poet, storyteller, and essayist. He is working on various writing projects, and lives what he describes as an 'analog life.' He resides in Jackson County, Missouri.