An Empty Bench

An Empty Bench

A midwinter night

Empty of stars

Frost sparkles on black rooftops

On the cobblestone streets below

The dark settles deep within

In this empty moment in time

He stands alone

The pain in his eyes

Deeper than the glassy pond

He stares with sadness

At an empty bench

And wonders

At the frigid touch

Of the cruel wind

That seems to steal his breath

And slow his thoughts

In this long, dark exile

It seems he dies a little

 With every brittle leaf

As it falls

Forever fading

From this life

He feels his aching, lonely heart

Still beating

Yet frozen with his loss

He feels the night is ever falling

Like the silent drifts of snow

Now blowing in

And he sighs

Deep and shuddering

And drags his gaze

From the empty bench

Shrugs his shoulders

Against the cold

And slowly

Turns away

As the snow

Like ashes

Covers his steps

© Ann Bagnall 2014.



4 thoughts on “An Empty Bench

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