Cold feet of pain did weigh upon my mind,

and walk with shivered flesh upon my days,

as if to dip dead toes into the pool of grief,

that memory would startle from the grave.

The watered ripple of remembered times,

was shaken by the sodden steps you made,

and drowning in the darkness of the past,

the feelings once forgotten were displayed.

There was no pure intent for what you did,

but merely who you were and did create,

new waves within the ocean I denied,

which held the power of reason then to break.

So deep that pit emotion had long dug,

to hide what was so tidily repressed,

that only when the surface had been broke,

could older, darker suffering be addressed. 

The clear, reflected image would not hold,

and slurried waves of motion had been set,

adrift upon a new and purposed way;

demanding that the  truth should now be met.


About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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