like cold fingers
gripping my sleeve
and tracing
the tear tracks
on my cheeks
Stuck
in this circle
this endless
cycle
of temporary
relief
no winged creatures
appeared to whisk me
away
no burst of light
dawned
to burn away the haze
it was merely
the constant
apathy
never forward
always still
while fleets
of people
ran past
the flowers
in my garden
refused to bloom
Sometimes I'd try
to force the petals
open
but they'd only
fall
apart
and somewhere
in the mess
there was me
me, who kept looking
out
me, who kept
running
in my
circle
watching crowds
go by
and all
that kept me
busy
was to write
and write and write
till all the
crumpled poems
and tear-stained
pages
pointed in
to a little boys heart
-there
my reflection
appeared.
Still
No winged creatures
came
to set
me free
just poetry.
3 comments:
just poetry is so much more
then just poetry its an echo
of a soul alive with the music
of his heart..beautiful writing Jan
Thank you so much for the continuing support. I hope so much that my writings help others in some small way.
a haunting post friend, sometimes you wonder if it will ever go away :(
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