Fractured

Whisperings in winter:

tales of memory and loss

chiseled in stone--

everywhere, the fallen.

Quietly lingering

amidst discarded wishes

and dreams of rebirth:

a lone figure

somehow summoning healing

in the passing shadows.

A scent of moss and ashes:

drifting, earthy,

leaves crackling underfoot,

trampled like so many forgotten hopes.  

One too young, found: 

lying grey,

cold, exposed--

not cracked, 

but split quite in two,

awaiting eternal repair.

trying my hand at some pre-Halloween poetry for Magpie 38.