Written for Kevin’s No Theme Thursday: 08.15.24
The slightest wisp, a silver chill
runs deep behind the mirror, still.
To the undulating rivers of time that twist the heart
to freeze and start.
The boots that whisper what they know
leave no trace if they come or go.
Through the fathomless land, a sullied stare
toward a once-lush forest, now laid bare
Upon the cliffs, the rock’s inscrutable countenance
Offers no sign or reason for penance
It dreams in all the shades of white from mist to snow
to winter’s icy floe
Picking up along the way
all the souls on their last day.
It comes as it is called.
In the darkly waning days past the fall.
Death has many faces, and
none at all.
Life is a dark ride 
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