Our bare-bodied tree limbs,
tangled and knotted together
with leaves of our poetry,
around us like discarded paper skirts.
The satin sheets
with troubled hills, up and down,
reflecting our lives,
our only basis in life-
an eternal expanse in all directions.
The color is drained and gone,
leaving the widest range
of technicolor greys.
Sound is the only invasion,
giving us our music
and the song of words and posey
to bridge our thoughts.
Our lives are now braided,
together in this eternal spin
leaving only a trail of leaves
floating on a breeze of faint music.
If you don't know, the definition of posey is poetry. I just liked using that better than repeating the words poetry which was used in the first stanza. That is all. Hope you enjoyed it.
~Yoyo
