The moment called,
convincing, with
resolute disdain, of
shattered hopes and
fantasies, where no
thing did remain.
And so the hours
quiet, the minutes
in tight step, as days
disdjointed cowered;
with sanity bereft.
The moment called,
forgiving, with no
thing to be read, and
yet the face of death
revealed, so much was
left unsaid; remote
and falling quickly,
through lost and
torrid times, the step
was taken slowly,
toward new life,
new mind. As if
within the calling,
all tears were left
behind, with little
to remember; and
so is fate enshrined.

About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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1 Response to Calling

  1. calmkate says:

    a lovely rendition of loss 🙂

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