Rough Patch

Flying emotions and

Dead feelings you thought

Would never surface

Come out in stormy words

Of agonising hate

And momentary spite.

The past is dug up

With a shovel like precision

And the winds start to rumble.

A grey setting ensconces 

The once bright future

And it all seems wrong.

A thread of sunshine

Is cut by a deathly shadow

Of a giant tree

And the darkness persists

Until the leaves fall off

And the branches are frayed 

Like the long wrought argument

Regarding who’s mistake it was.

The tree loses its life with the onslaught

Of the occultuous autumn.

The dead work of timber

Is no more.

The rays of the sun 

Finally touch the ground.

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