Grey and tangled

  they swing

  the dried-out husks

  Of careless shadows

  now swaying in the breeze.

  The soft skittering

  sound of their bodies

  brushing each other

  as they shiver

  and shake

  on a wayward breeze

  is the only murmur

  that remains

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  of their empty ruin,

  while she dreams

  and waits

  in the center of the tangle,

  ready with yet another noose.

  She watches her victims,

  drifting on the wind,

  swinging, swinging

  until they are cut free

  from the gallows of silk,

  hanging broken and bloodless,

  a desiccated, hollow promise

  of what tomorrow

  might have been.