Archives for posts with tag: love and loss poetry

our boundaries are

north and south and east and west,

that’s all we can see

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the why and the how,

the then this now,  north is south.

this compass broken

my

body

remembers

and

when I

think of you

there is

the keyed up

anticipation

of the

tightly strung

piano wire –

waiting

for the

hammer

to fall,

the

music

to

start

so i

walk

into

this

empty

white

corridor.

It

resounds

with

the emptiness

the squareness

the

multiplication

the

amplification,

the

recurring

emptiness

of

this

world

without

you.

I wake

at 6 am

eyelids

gut

hands

fluttering.

I remember

Now

that your

voice

sounded

as flat

and

Pinned

as the

gold framed

moths

i once

hung

on our

hallway wall.

there is some pain in

this missing of you – a strong

ache deep in my bones

This

ambered

night

holds

honey drip

and

a

bee stung

lip.

The

almost

unbearable

sweetness

of

a

 brushed out

dying

light.

And she feels it now,

Tingling,

Just below the surface of her skin,

As inevitable as

The movement of storm clouds,

The Furies unfurling their wings –

Awakened

They begin to sing.

When she opens her mouth

to speak

Their voices drown out her own,

shatter glass

crack mirrors

move time

still the beat

and

finally

stop

all

men’s hearts.

i think that it was

seeing you

in full bloom,

at the very height

of spring –

strong green buds plaited,

bright petal

sheen and shine,

all the colours

twined.

it

 brought me to tears.

I know

how very much

we were a symbiosis,

your  new green verdant growth

tied to

my  mud stained

cleansed hands.

I was the first one who had cared for you in years.

Parted.

Uprooted.

I cry for us both now.

A multitude of sins

 multifarious and too late despairs

fanning behind our current path.

The way ahead

is hinted at

but these seeds scattered

behind us

form a clearly visible backwards trail.

This trail,

it marks our progress,

you can follow it

some many meandering miles.

Lately,

these days,

I find myself hoping that

perhaps,

by dawn,

the sharp beaked birds will have pecked

up every last crumb,

every last seed

leading back,

 blanking

 bleaking

losing the way for us.

Some days,

these days,

i would not grieve if we

never

found our way back

to

these places.

i would not grieve if we

chose to just

lie down in the leaves

at the side of the road

and go to sleep.

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