by Carmen Eichman
Winter strikes September.
Landscape empties,
lists as aged hollowed wood.
Hallowed vows erupt vitriolic roots.
She claws desperation,
egregious emptiness digs into quick.
She sucks frigid air, but love's lungs collapse.
Hope tumultuously tumbles
to a soft lichen floor of failure,
raven black despair.
Bowed head,futile prayer.
Taut white neck aligns
along absent angel wings
as bowed head and branches bend
in an ice laden loss.
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