Our shadows are falling.
This time for good.
We enter from stage left into a wood
darkened by nervous delusions.
Illusions of trust pace along the perimeter
wringing their hands. We’ve come
seeking an understanding, some form
of deliverance from what fate
has lately been demanding of us,
demands we’ve decided are unreasonable.
October breathes unseasonable cold
through the old, balding branches
of the surrounding trees.
I toy with the notion of freezing to death,
that breath cloaking me like a pall,
and you in a panic, calling for help
as the dull wilderness averts its ears
and goes about its business
of being indifferent to human affairs.
Such thoughts would scare you
if I said them aloud, endowed as you are
with a decidedly inhuman capacity
for compassion. So I keep quiet.
A riot of feeling commences
as our pensive search begins
asserting its futility.
Vicious and malignant, the moon
exposes our fragility –

-r. miller

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