He follows you, silent
Gliding, dark-cloaked, invisible
As whispering eddies in the night.
Through streets shrouded
In simple shadows, and light
As pallid as the Sun in winter
Kissed skies.
Across cobble and path,
Through doorways abandoned
As cold as hoar-frost mornings
Creeping tentacles brushing
A shoulder of flame.
In ancient corners, windowless
Led deep within a labyrinth moon,
A face forms shapes melts
Features upon your flesh,
A windless sea carries call to home
Acceptance sighs to welcome.
© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2018
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You’ve personified depression really well here Chris
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Thanks, Nitin, I’m pleased that this resonated with you.
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Amazing the role that perspective and position plays in poetic interpretation. I love this but did NOT see the depression. I love that as much as I love the poem itself.
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I totally agree, and perhaps that is as it should be – personal perception is everything. Glad you enjoyed this though.
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I really did. I don’t think there is anything of yours that I don’t love.
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Thank you ☺
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Creepy. What if it’s a she?
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Absolutely true! Not gender specific, merely a pronoun! Thank you.
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Loved it.
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☺
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Reblogged this on chrisnelson61.
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