Denial of the Living

I know my tree all too well, it creeks when I approach,
sighs deep inside and speaks to me,
as I hide behind its trunk.
You know the truth, he is not here,
nor shall he return from the place he dwells;
you should go home tonight.
I shrug the voice away, the last place I saw him,
waving to me from his window,
playing hide-&-seek as I glanced around my tree.
 
I know he is gone,
far from any place
I may venture,
he has left
by the way of
moonlight
and into darker shadows
where devils
hold his hand.
His grave, filled with death, is not where I shall wait,
but instead I remain peeking around my lonely tree
in hopes of seeing him wave,
once more,
at me.


Written January 28, 2012
Photos by Daryl Edelstein
Prompt from Imaginary Garden
 

Note: I’m not sure that I’m done with this one. I may need to re-read it a few times and do some tweeking before I get it just right.