Standing in the dark

Standing in the dark

After the light has gone.

The brief flare,

Illuminating the darkest hours,

The bleakest days,

The long cold nights

That follow.

As a winter wind strips

Ancient oaks,

And leaves gnarled

And twisted trees

Naked, cold and bare.

No-one sees the last leaf fall,

A slow painless flutter.

It was long dead,

Even before a dreary dawn

Breeze finally prised it loose.

And as it fell

It had nothing left to lose,

But the view.

Waiting in the shadows,

After the glare of life

Has been and gone,

Yet left its mark

Upon the aged skin,

So creased and drawn.

With every single

Pain and drain

Etched so deep into

The flesh.

The cracks, so finely

Over painted,

Seen through darkened mirrors

Meant to hide the scars

Of each defeat.

As age and worry

Slowly eats the freshest

Taste of youth away.

And leaves it hidden

Out of sight.

And in the silence

Of her room.

She dreams of

That brief summer.

When she was the

Brightest thing

Who every lived.

And in every tear

That tumbles down

Her powdered cheek,

She sees a glimpse

Of what once was,

Slip into the bleakness

Of a dawn

That creeps in ever colder,

Slowly freezing dreams

Of summer,

And the days, before the fall.