Anxious, alarmed, grimly
haunted, so does the heart
fret, as time plays sorrow’s
song, demanding that the
fingers be placed just so,
across the bars of cold
memory; sounding bitter
notes of hope, reflected
in bleak, stark shadow
lines across mind’s sad,
sullen symphony.

About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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1 Response to Fret

  1. merrildsmith says:

    I like the flow of this, and the way you worked fret into the metaphor.

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