Thursday, October 23, 2014



Folded neatly, the origami of my days,
like pyjamas placed upon morning’s
pillow, where the day is painted in
slow, blurred strokes, upon dawn’s

fresh, clean face, and I sit and rock
backwards and forwards, keening
through waves of grief which had
been kept waiting, at the dirty feet

of darkest night, placed inexorably
beneath the tousled bed of mind and
its tangled sheets of creased feeling,
which wait, to be tidied and tucked

yet again, that there may be order,
at least, for a few, bright hours of
sunshine, and forgetting of all that
the darkness still holds to its heart.

About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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1 Response to

  1. julespaige says:

    I haven’t made it to this wordle yet.

    I like what you have done here though. Our lives like origami.
    I did something with origami that you might enjoy…

    Little people still keeping me busy. Cheers, Jules

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