These acorns know no place, nor do these crinkled leaves. For they
Have been released, birthed away by the trees.
The night, dark and dismal, extends far past its due.
For the sun no longer comes, leaving in its place,
Only the moon. Whose ethereal glow kindly guides lost
Souls home. Few do not find their way back, settling into place,
Intertwining their skeletal limbs with each barren tree.
Until either can be mistaken for the other.
Be wary those who enter here,
Be wary those who still have souls.
For those who brave past the barren cliffs,
Hold close to you, your memories, it’s all
You’re allowed to keep. Don’t drop your guard,
This land loves to feast.
Bring with you reason and might,
Bring with you your wit.
And maybe, just maybe, you’ll survive
This plight. It’s masked in rusted gardens,
Where flowers no longer bloom.
And if you look just close enough,
You’ll see that I’m there, too.
Among the wilted weeds, I sit and I grieve.
For I ventured unprepared to this vast and icy land
And though I do regret to tell, not a bit of me was spared.
Now like the leaves, I’ve crinkled in the cold,
And much like these endless nights, I too am growing old.
About the Creator
Katie Matthews
instagram: katt_mattt
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