Shadow propped up on the wall,
Dancing to music from the rain,
With a language that has no words,
A manikin posing in a statute,
Cemented into the ground,
Stiff from the time of solitude,
So, so tired.

Stricken leaves listening,
To the coo of the river brook,
Above the moonlight breaks,
Pressured by the advancing dawn,
It’s ashen complexion,
Painted on,
So, so tired.

Palm’s weathered from touch,
Touch, or, never letting go,
Eyes crinkled at the edge,
From living on the edge,
Or, jumping off,
Eyelid’s seemingly sewn together,
For they never open,
So, so tired.

Author's Note: Tell me what ya think!
Hollow