Shadows Of The Sun

The air is crisp and cold

The old barn stands out in the barren wasteland that surrounds it.

All is quiet; there is no sign of any life.

The sun shines through the few surviving trees, creating beautiful moving silhouettes.

A silent slide-show.

Complete isolation.

No feeling.

Only the gentle rustle of friction when the breeze brushes the dead grass.

Images and mirages dance in front of your young eyes.

The Barn door creeks.

Your fantasy is shattered.

When you see your mother

Hung by the neck

Hanging on a beam

Her body rustles and sways like the dead grass

Because you let the breeze in.

Naughty Child.