Wind

The serenity is fine,
an expressionless enigma.
The purge, breezing
through the hair
of a mystic maiden.
It calmness,
morbid in itself,
sways the limbs
of an old oak
overseeing her visage.
The light grey,
evaporating into
a lifeless painting
of despair…
The maiden,
laden with fear,
is weakened by
torrential gusts
and blown away,
into dust, into the wind.

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