Don’t be alarmed. A poem written at a time of strong feeling is a good thing…for me. It expresses itself so I can get on with the day. This to shall pass.
Parched, cracked and dry.
Formidable aching crunches me into tiny pieces like sand.
Alone, without, encumbered, unfrequented and grief stricken.
Near the rim of Death deserted flowers survive.
Quarterly it rains and hope saves seeds for safe keeping.
But no blossoms bloom here.
Desolation and dust insubstantially drifting
Coming to my rescue
the rain of my tears.
slowly, slowly, S-L-O-W-L-Y.
How do you move from Darkness to the Light?
Tag You’re It!