The Silent Tower

Spencer Hall

 

Left isolated in silence.

Standing there watching time pass,

Growing tall and old.

Listening to the rustling of parched leaves.

 

The mystic presence in the wind,

With the smell of the cold crisp air

Which spread the leaves of its labor,

Underneath the dreary clouds.

 

The parched leaves left to rot,

Leaving its home appearing lifeless,

With bare branches and coarse bark,

Filled with hollow colors of plain brown and grey.

 

The solitary call of a crow

Breaking the silence,

Along with the crashes of branches

Left in peace.