Warped Willow

Warped Willow.

Tired warps the willow into a worldly sign.
An illusion, a metaphysical delusion.
A sleepless crime.

I can’t see for not shedding a tear.
The dryness irritates my eyes where I refuse to miss her.
I am complete.

The world turns the wrong way around as the wind spins in harmony.
It doesn’t blow.

A confined sense of security, surreal.
A bird pecks at the branch and half of Italy is gone.

I must sleep before I wake, or something.

I dream of unimportance and the importance of being unimportant and, you guessed it.
It’s not important.

A sliver of hope and light breaks through partially opened curtains and a closed mind to announce the world has gone.

All gone.

Copyright G.P Williamson 2015.


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