SILENCE

Desolate.
Alone.
Stark.
Cold.
Empty.
Sitting on a hill.
No houses nearby.
Only the comfort
of a bare tree.
The wind rattles
through my open beams.
Snow drifts in from my roof.
No peace.
Only cold.
And deafening silence.
Will it always be so?
Will the sun shine ever again?
Will horses return to my stables?
I could only wait and hope.

DEAFENING SILENCE

Desolate.
Alone.
Stark.
Cold.
Empty.
Sitting on a hill.
No houses nearby.
Only the comfort
of a bare tree.
The wind rattles
through my open beams.
Snow drifts in from my roof.
No peace.
Only cold.
And deafening silence.
Will it always be so?
Will the sun shine ever again?
Will horses return to my stables?
I could only wait and hope.

ALL BY MYSELF

dehanginggarden:

when blue is blue by chriseastmids

In the dark of night,
a plant grows by itself.
Around it the land is barren.
No colors shimmer in the darkness,
besides the deep blue of its petals.
It hangs its head down low,
weeping for its loneliness,
waiting for other flowers to bloom.
But sadly, it must wait in vain,
for no other plant will flower nearby.