Hollowcost
Softly, the breeze blew white curtains.
The noonday sun reflects precious miniatures
Upon the lazy, meandering stream,
As it girgles through endless fields
Of untrodden grass.
No tree, nor weed exists
Within the limits of sights.
The misty sky is devoid of clouds;
No sound pierces the peace;
No utterence escapes my gaping mouth.
No flesh covers my bleached bones.
Nothing survives,
But my unwillingness to die.
© Copyright 1996, Lynne R. Freels
