A Mime, in Woods by night, misplaced,
His steps in twilight's chill retraced.
Lost he treads on hallowed Ground,
Where silent Specters swirl around.
~~~
On All Hallows' Eve, the Ghosts arise,
Watch him with their spectral Eyes.
He paints his sorrow, in pantomime,
His art, unloved, in his Lifetime.
~~~
His movements, smooth as haunted Breeze,
Captivate the Ghosts with ease.
His silent Act, in Graveyard's mist,
Stirs Spirits long in slumber kissed.
~~~
The Ghosts, they cheer, they love, they see,
Invite him to their Eternity.
A Mime in life, in Death, a Star,
Only his Ball found, near and far.
~~~
In the morning Light's soft gleam,
He's but a vanishing Halloween Dream.
About the Creator
Iris Obscura
Are you after "polite?"
Stable?
This is the wrong place.
Looking for the kind of beauty that looks like it crawled out of a fluorescent supermarket at 2:13 am and somehow asked you about meaning.
Read on.
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