Left Behind Branches



Raised through the chivalrous

staggered realms of uncertainty,

I crossed a million branches,

entangled by the miseries of their past

beholding them to the bark of trees.


Some, on which knuckles of owls

clenching the skin of branches,

the look of thirst in their eyes,

dwelling hard for an extension

of their dreary victim succession.


Some, on which snakes dwindled,

whispering along the sleek red

surface randomly shaking,

their boneless shininess,

through the dirty recklessness.


Some, on which emptiness hawked,

the pain of loneliness

then embraced me for long,

of times and unknown.


And crossing the border,

I reached the land of dreams,

and saw a million men and women.

I paced back for the owl,

snake and the loneliness,

I lost the way.







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