Saturday, January 12, 2013


The template made clear cut,
fine-edged in skeletal relief,
it’s shadow thrown through blood
and bone, it’s pattern ridged
with grief. Cold echo from the past,
still drawing shadows real,
to grip my heel and dog my steps;
dark memories unfurled.
This pattern locking time
and holding visions stark,
to throw lost image cross my mind;
slow cut around my heart.
will soul still hold this print of pain,
desire’s design long-shaped,
to show again the place where love
first learned the feel of hate.

About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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