The Forest Through the Trees

Thoughts of mourning
In the morning
Cold
Winter’s breath
Blue lips of the divine
Haunted flowers
Rise with mystic holiness
Laughing brooks cry
And carry grave notes
Along it’s shallow bank
Red, orange, and yellow
Leaves have fallen
Beneath a moonlit sky
That’s drawing
Cobalt painted backdrop
Of my final
Resting place

*(matthew bowers)* ~93
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