Tristan Robert Lange
Corridors of Decaying Dreams
Autumn season’s fruit
Lies frost-bitten on the ground,
Hardened and dying
Like carcasses petrified
After weeks in summer’s sun.
In a sad and horrid state,
A pumpkin sits decaying,
Mold growing like fuzz
On a freshly ripened peach.
The stench of mildew prevails.
As the gourd rots there
Orange fades to blueish-green.
The shoes of children
Scattered across the dark field
Of forgotten promises.
Within this corn maze,
Haunted by abandoned hope
And destitute dreams,
The lab’rinth is filled with ghosts
That roam these dark corridors.
Forever alone—
Abandoned to rot in peace—
The phantasms cry
In shrill terror at the sound
That makes mockery of fun.
© 2024 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.