Cold Hallways
The weary need
their lucid dreams
to find a believable shade.
In the dark corridors
the labyrinth winds
and unwinds its emptiness.
A maze made
from silk-shadows dances
like spider-webs in the night.
Threads touch the skin
to fade away—disappear
into broken design.
With a solemn gasp
a hollow echo murmurs—
stones whispering back.
A faint answer
that isn’t an answer
calls out their name.
They long to find
that quartz pebble on
the tarry road to gloom.
© RH Peat 8/12/2010 5: 22pm
Form: 7 tercets/ 21 lines
depression overcomes with hope.