He stood there, still.
So perfect, and beautiful. He stood there, still.
So perfect, and beautiful. He stood there, still.
The tall dark winding trees;
Their branches reach,
To the midnight bloom.
So very dead and ancient,
It seemed, incomparable.
His muscular back,
With not a sight of slack.
So tender yet stiff and firm.
He looked disappointed.
Or is he ill?
Black cloak, flowing
Just like my thoughts.
His golden hair glowing,
Unusually blocked.
“Where am I”, I thought.
I knew him, inside out.
I tried to reach, but
He was too far out.
I could sense his presence,
But why was he avoiding me?
He stood there, still.
So perfect, and beautiful.
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