There it sat ,

A lonely tree 

On the crest of a lonely hill

Only the sailing wind to fill

Each green carpet 

A silence no one will.

 

The hands turn.

A torch that sets fire ,

Piercing through interwoven threads 

Unravelling every might it held ,

Only to die .

Only to be burned away in the light.

 

Tear drops of solitude 

No.

Drops of the invisible 

A stream ,a river

To those in drought

To the wrath it wrought. 

 

Yet what is left ,

Is uncertainties 

Weighing above the lone shade ,

An awkwardness ,

Caught in the breeze ,

Where kindnesses gets pushed down 

Meandering stairs.