My door open, but
the rooms are empty, thoughts like
forgotten relics.
Abandoned haiku blog
4
My door open, but
the rooms are empty, thoughts like
forgotten relics.
Stories always tell
of the one who wanders, then
returns home…like me.
Soon, darkness recedes.
But tonight I wrap myself
in velvet-starred black.
You don’t notice the
absence of sound until you
strain to hear something.
Can days be merry
and bright? Jobs – like ornaments –
fragile, out of reach.