Reflections
You had winter eyes, silver grey and not a daywould pass that I would try to be beautiful to you,
curling my finger into your palm, breathing that
sweet breath, mapping the fragile veins, hoping
that they would lead to a path we would travel,
not to know, never to know, your route was planned,
no crumbs, just the hum in the backdrop of a life,
too lived, not long enough, you had age in your stare,
aquatic dreams, that too long on this dry and arid earth,
was never yours to contemplate, you impatiently
fought and I was caught into knowing my beauty
would never be realised and the surprise that on
a cold wet day, we would take you where
I would never go, you in my heart, a finger print
on the cartology of me, I felt battered by the winds,
no one sang but a humming was in the air, I brushed
silver back into the stars and the grey was in the sea,
that reflected clouds and aloud I said, goodbye.
I miss the morning of your life and the evensong of mine.
Poetry by Elle
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Editors' choice
Written on 2013-11-02 at 16:52
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liz munro |
Editorial Team |
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