Late winter story

My father saw in every tree a virgin
winding their hair like a cuddle
I see only witches who
now that the spring is near
are poking my eyes with their blackened fingers

But, my father saw fairies in every woman
So he followed them like a mad man
hoping they would open the heaven for him
I was always left behind
with my eyes blastering
wiped by the witch’s curses
To watch forever the same story
just like a tree

6 thoughts on “Late winter story

  1. Louis Kasatkin

    No-one does existential disappointment and the world wrapped in shrouds of regret quite like this author.The appropriate musical accompaniment to this would be something from Pink Floyd circa 1968.

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