Thoughts did rise and huddle close to fading image,

holding hands across the edge of time and space,

cold-fingered, tight-lipped and chilled through flesh,

full imagined in the wreck of broken grace;

rising yet to taunt and tighten heart and mind’s resolve,

mocking, silent, settled on the days as grieving breaks.


Remembering – that putting back together piece by piece,

jigsaw patience, sorting through the dust of hope,

where all the broken shards of lost relationship do hide,

and pain does set adrift on salty tears what reason chose;

drowning, arms adrift and soul in tortured, helpless wake,

beneath the brutal waves where nothing will be known.


To waken – believing that it has been nothing more than dream,

and then reality smooths careful place upon the bed,

sits with folded arms, smooth brow and unforgiving glare,

as wishes are with sharpened knife, so surely bled;

dying, surrendering to that which has been always clearly known,

so long denied, and yet a meal of truth so forceful fed.

About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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