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The Memory
February 7, 2009
A leaf lazily
falls
to the ground.
Trees loom over
houses and yards,
like a horror movie setting.
Purple
lines
the horizon.
Higher though,
many shades darker,
faint stars,
hide
from my
side
of the
earth.
A breeze,
sometimes,
hits me hard,
some not even
stroking me.
The moon,
like a glowing crystal ball,
telling
a powerful fortune.
Now,
I hear
the swaying
wind chimes
soft,
sad
sound.
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