willows weeping
with my eyes feeding
their sap,
I run, run away
deeper
where sulphur shower
in the spring
soaks my whims,
autumn building a bed
where I can rest my head
I roll in decay,
the spirits say,
a beginning
perpetuating in a
solemn ending
the godly pines
preaching, their hearts cold,
their cones so terribly cunning;
in no time
I call myself a hostage.
© 2021 Sheena Shah. All Rights Reserved.
Sheena Shah is a dark poet with a deep fixation on escaping reality. A maladaptive daydreamer and an avid reader, her quest is to find peace of mind and a potion to tame her tumultuous soul. You can find her lurking on Twitter and Instagram.