Sweet autumnal sap, sticking
To maple walls of an hourglass,
Unwilling, lingering, clinging,
To the curvature of cracked bark.
Crisp leaves cultivate inquiry
Into the nature of nature’s secret,
Withholding all but scenic silence,
And a curious palate of decay.
A tempting translucence,
Magnifying means to an unending end,
Where those nostalgic shades of sepia
Mimic snippets of aged photographs.
Broken branches giving way
To blood that is thicker than blood,
Slowly spilling forth into existence,
Purgatory’s golden embrace.
Time is in slow descent,
Begging the unforeseen question
That clings to amber crystallized,
And never yields answer.
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About the Creator
Jamie Wilkinson
23 year old writer/poet from Montreal, Canada.
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