My ears reek from the sound of silence,
As I beg for some sort of communication from heart to mind.
I lie, undiscovered and wild with moss and unrequited care.
Your world-weary love is tangling my will,
And so I jumble mixed messages to trespassers
Untwining them randomly in my fruitless sentiments
Weaving them into sight so they may observe;
My auburn hands have stretched of late;
I am Imperfect.
Without you I am but a blue sigh of melancholic exhaust.
Yet you persist on keeping that very monotonous state of mind.
Selfishly, I keep my head in the clouds, which mirrors my contempt.
I let the feathered natives sit on my branches; cut and worn from relief.
Used, I lingered.
Of late; I have become a wraith, waiting for you;
Stripped of my crisp hopes of your return.
I stand numbly allowing the unforgiving frost to settle over my body.
Although thrilled of the ache, my will staggers and I cry
Your name.

Willow.