The Dead

by George Freek

A sultry breeze weakens,
as the dying sun falls
like a ball of lead.
A raven searches for carrion,
hovering above my head.
I walk the lake shore alone.
I walk like a man made of stone.
If she were alive my wife
would walk by my side.
My thoughts are disconnected.
Like dead leaves
they scatter in the wind.
The leaves fall at my feet.
Tonight they will deepen
when I finally sleep.

Category: Poetry, SNHU Creative Writing, SNHU online creative writing