Requiem

By LIFEINVADER

Autumn leaves
and winter souls,
bone icebergs,
mystic sonata of the dead.
 
Funeral symphony,
of violins inside frigid air,
languid white crows,
that squawk laments,
deep in the cemetery.
 
Wings flapping,
black, brown,
in the grave of frost,
and salty tears.
 
A silence ...
In the distance night falls,
two bells ring,
slowly,
the statues cry
and they touch, with their cold hands
the dark land, without memory,
banished and alone,
as lonely as the willow trees,
that raise their branches to heaven,
and like those dead,
who sleep below,
below the abyss, where there are no memories,
where the thicket of darkness,
covers everything, with its black shape,
and any rumor is silenced,
by the void echo,
of a slow nostalgic sonata.

Unauthorized Copying Is Prohibited. Ask the author first.
Copyright 2020 LIFEINVADER
Published on Monday, July 27, 2020.     Filed under: "Depressed" and "Poetry"
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