It's in the Trees (3)
The trees point up, they have a Gothic shape.
The eyes lift after it and find the moon.
It drags the sea after it like a dark crime;
it is quiet with the O-gape of complete despair.
The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right,
white as a knuckle and terribly upset.
I live here. Separated from my 'heart' by a row of headstones.
I simply cannot see where there is to get to.
I have fallen a long way. Clouds are flowering
black and mystical over the face of the stars
The moon sees nothing of this.
The trees of the mind are black.
And the message of the trees is blackness,
blackness and silence.
Thank you all who faved, awarded & commented on my art, I'll reciprocate on yours :))
A link to my gallery; La Galleria de Luce