There are these questions that will always fade away, as well as those that surly find response. However, real answers seem to be just fairy tales when claimed as true-like harmony. Uncertainties remain as orphaned shrug – a gesture that a poem maybe busies as a question tag.

Shadows, creeping, one by one,
across the autumn land,
take, when all the storms are gone,
my longing by their hand.

Darkness underneath the sky,
is swallowing the light,
yet, I’m lifted by my sigh
to thoughts that come in sight.

Clouds release the gloomy view,
reopen heaven’s gate,
question tags make answers true
when calmed by winter’s shade.

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