Frosted Glass Between Rain And Life

Frosted glass between rain and life

I run my hand through the same old withered branches,

Drenched in the same old tired rain,

Far away the sunset harbours the lost gold of

Odysseys gone by, and if the wind were to hide

Within it some unremembered glow from the land

Of unknown secrets, the evening will gently

Whisk away the covers of the coquette,

And reveal to us a maiden under the bent willow,

Sweet as the apples from the orchards where our dreams

Were buried. She will beckon for the children

To gather around the fire and tell them the story

Of Zerah and Zulamith, whilst we twist the

Slender branches of the cherry tree into a throne

Fit for the brides of heaven to recline on,

Place at the altar a wreath of dead roses,

And hope that the silent fragrance borne to the shore

Is enough for the sea to give up the child

She drew to her heart in death’s storm.

…

And dare I tag anyone? @pollosky-in-blue perhaps you’ll like the story?

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? i guess poetry whatever that's it everything just everything but really slightly depressing what is slightly depressing? I’ve a thing for incoherent narratives - I suppose it’s almost like a blank paper only this time the paper reads as whatever you want it to to imply something in some phrase and directly contradict it in a later one some thing about how everything you read is in essence a reflection of yourself back to this one I wasn’t particularly going anywhere with it it took me by the hand and insisted on the maiden staying inside my poor shack of a verse I can’t really do anything about it can I now? I’ve always thought cherry trees were the eternal bridesmaids of the forest- with the lace and all that what better deserving than it to serve the bride? sorry and thanks to anyone who bothered to read this

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