Ruminate

Mutated Muse

murder the notion of nostalgia

I need no October this year

there are enough echoes

to wander through memories

could it be that some

are incompatible to life

would that I could

wash the stain of pain

from pale and wrinkling skin

if flesh is merely a mask

what then lies beneath

an old soul tires eventually

semi-recumbent

I humbly allow books to take the lead

down the hall of slumber I crawl

to nestle with words

Poetry©Words Among Trees

Image - Pixabay - free domain