Silhouettes of Silk


by Anthony Abuan

 

The fog was against my window,

And the mid-morning had never seemed so beautiful.

The abyss of grey spanned in every direction,

Not even the silken silhouettes of trees could be seen –

Only nothingness.

 

Wisps of steam wafted from my coffee.

And before my eyes, they disappeared.

Did I dream of you last night?

Or was it the night before?

The fog was thick enough for me to question

If I truly knew what lay beyond.

Can you still recall the sound of my voice?

The room was cloaked in a still grey light.

A pallor of ruin’s replica.

Did you burn my letters?

The fog lingered into the night,

The lights of Richmond were muffled.

And the moon – sweet darling she is –

Her lights exhaled through the shadows to stretch

Her soft fingers tenderly upon my window,

As though to say: I remain.

 

When the rain came, it started in slow shallow sheets

At my window. One could even hear the sound of a playground

Swing, swinging and swaying unused.

The flame of a dying lighter holds the room for a moment,

Then darkness resumes.

 

 

 

 


Anthony Abuan is a native to California and a student of kindness. He has written in many forms, yet he cherishes poetry the most. He studies English with aspirations to teach composition.

 

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