Tag: Prose

There is a walk I know, among the trees How much you always loved the solitude The dry, fallen leaves cracking beneath our feet An

In this I have become Plucked from sanity’s embrace Ungrounding, unfurled Wrought from fever and disgrace In each step through Cinder and ash, my becoming

In this room, is one of four walls Where there once contained A great picture window I would stare as the sun shone through At

It took so long For you to walk away You never stopped Looking back I think I even heard A mumbled, regretful I love you

Dangling on the wrong side of yesterday Searching for what I never had, within what’s left Waiting for meaning in sun-bleached tomorrows That never come

I’ll spare you My over-bearing Want for knowing My endless Who, what, where When, why, how And what for Because we all know We’ve read