The scarf has been picked up...
Black and White, two shades of life, alive and dead,
It's adorned with fondness...
Rattled, as it left its resting place, from a quiet repose to an airless room.
Now regretful, with its utter silence.
Resting in a corner, never washed, rife with "red apple orchards" of emotions, preserved like - jam.
In essence a remnant of a burning man.
Quiet, in only his silence,
His delicate relics now rest with us.
A frame untouched by time, a mirror cracked by distance, a sharp reaper - enlivened by the new master's touch - whom it will serve from now.
The care, the regret, the imminent anger, the cloud burst, the regard, the emotion,
They have all travelled in the personal artifacts and now rest heavy in our hand.
Sumbal is far, yet - a feather touch away.
Memories will wait for another day.
Black and White, two shades of life, alive and dead,
It's adorned with fondness...
Rattled, as it left its resting place, from a quiet repose to an airless room.
Now regretful, with its utter silence.
Resting in a corner, never washed, rife with "red apple orchards" of emotions, preserved like - jam.
In essence a remnant of a burning man.
Quiet, in only his silence,
His delicate relics now rest with us.
A frame untouched by time, a mirror cracked by distance, a sharp reaper - enlivened by the new master's touch - whom it will serve from now.
The care, the regret, the imminent anger, the cloud burst, the regard, the emotion,
They have all travelled in the personal artifacts and now rest heavy in our hand.
Sumbal is far, yet - a feather touch away.
Memories will wait for another day.
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