A Mime, in Woods by night, misplaced,
His steps in twilight's chill retraced.
Lost he treads on hallowed Ground,
Where silent Specters swirl around.
~~~
On All Hallows' Eve, the Ghosts arise,
Watch him with their spectral Eyes.
He paints his sorrow, in pantomime,
His art, unloved, in his Lifetime.
~~~
His movements, smooth as haunted Breeze,
Captivate the Ghosts with ease.
His silent Act, in Graveyard's mist,
Stirs Spirits long in slumber kissed.
~~~
The Ghosts, they cheer, they love, they see,
Invite him to their Eternity.
A Mime in life, in Death, a Star,
Only his Ball found, near and far.
~~~
In the morning Light's soft gleam,
He's but a vanishing Halloween Dream.
About the Creator
Iris Obscura
Do I come across as crass?
Do you find me base?
Am I an intellectual?
Or an effed-up idiot savant spewing nonsense, like... *beep*
Is this even funny?
I suppose not. But, then again, why not?
Read on...
Also:
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