He glides on the tattered wings of Death.
The Man with no shadow.
Beauty withers under his gaze,
Life soon follows.
A flower wilts in his cupped palm,
Turning to dust.
The things we desire most, are always out of reach.
Lamplight flickers as he watches.
Raven feathers cascade like tears.
Amassing on the ground like snow.
Accompanied only by the moon's cold smile.
Wandering the Earth to its boundaries.
Looking on at civilisations coming and going.
An eternity of emptiness.
The Man clutches the ashes to his chest.
Observes as the powder sifts between his fingers.
Pooling between his feet.
A bittersweet sensation.
A lost cause.
A lost soul.
Share This Poem
This Poems Story
Poem. Seriously, I'm not what you'd call "fabulous" at writing descriptions.