Joy and grief

The whisper drifts around
my mind and waits,
silent, patient, hidden
in the mists it calls
itself to being, never late;
it will appear when joy
bestows her kiss.
The words are murmured,
quietly, soft and cruel
they linger in the recesses
of thought, a presence
bold and ever powerful;
reminder of the lessons
I’ve been taught.
There was a time in childhood’s
dream of life, when triumph
smiled at joy, and said:
‘Long may you prosper
and inspire’;
but in the wings stood fate
embracing death.
These two had formed
a pact to conquer joy,
so fragile and so
newly born she was;
no more than child’s toy –
an ungrown thing, so small
and easily destroyed.
So now, when joy arrives
with timid touch,
full close behind comes fear,
then tight imprisoned
in her ugly arms,
the child’s broken body;
remnants of the dream.


About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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