The Silent Spectrum

[Signtist]

The nomadic and tribal
Quilt of clouds--
Slow and smooth--
Gently washes downwind
Of nights devouring woods,
As a wide, white river
Of floating ghosts,
Beneath the soft, smiling glow
Of the month's half-moon.

The light echoes
It's silent spectrum
Through the spirits that roam,
And descends upon the ground
In wispy, ethereal smoke,
As sheets of rain
Upon the windows of a soul;
Looking for a fire on earth
To call it's long-lost home.

 

[New]

I enjoyed reading this.

You really captured the sense of fog and smoke effectively in this piece.

 

[Signtist]

Thanks. I'm glad you enjoyed it.