MISTS OF REMEMBRANCE

Nestled in the shadowy thicket,
bizarre breezes whistle
through the barren branches;
like ghosts of memories past.
The specter seeps; restless,
it will know balance,
the sores of scorched flesh
leave smudgy residue,
and straps its resolve,
binding a vacant heart.

 

Written for THE SUNDAY WHIRL – Wordle  #44