***ROUGH DRAFT OF - PINE BOX.***The pine box slowly descends.1…2… 3&hellip
***ROUGH DRAFT OF - PINE BOX.***The pine box slowly descends.1…2… 3… 4… 5… 6…The crisp old dirt. Crumbling; crunching. Coldly accommodating.Frosted blades of grass remain still despite the chilled air whipping about.Scarves dancing to the rhythmic patterns of the wind. A somber scene; saddened souls silently sobbing. There is little that can be said. Tears freezing, stinging cheeks. Everyone is wondering, but no one is asking. Why?Inevitably spring will come. Thawed landscapes reborn. Green, vibrant; rejuvenated.The pine box and it’s slumbering inhabitant shall remain eternally silent. Forever still. Laid to rest… …once upon a time, on that grey winter’s day.It seems that seasons can end too soon.Leaving peoples’ lives like houses, with empty rooms.Memory in juxtaposition with reality. Two parallel universes existing side by side.Dead, but still very much alive. He left us when it was his time to thrive.A bitter pill to swallow, an untimely demise. -- source link
#spilled ink#goodbye