the evening mist settles with unearthly grace atop the hill home of furred gods
Tag: monostich
to each terror of the night I say: fly north and you’ll find death
moonless sky: the scent of distant rain disrupts the dream
the warmth is hunted to the edges of the horizon by a wraithlike cold
curtains open to birdsong insinuating the quietude and creeping grey
silence and stillness hand in hand
a fallen forked twig gives you a choice between destinies
only visible in dew: the quiet paths tread by small folk
your pale presence becomes the scent of this summer night
belief: the grey is not random but by design a produce of human ingenuity to coexist with the natural world
elancharan gunasekaran 