Tags
always we begin, and still, belonging to none, grace, life, longing, love, poet, story, time, verse, writing
another sun
will I remember
the weight of words
beneath my bed –
empty pages
grieve the story
verses trapped inside
my head
passions rise
to ink stained fingers
memory met
with practiced hand –
seasons fill
my pen with longing
for life I’m want
to understand
truth is cleft
as will surrendered
stored to cold
my pillow waits –
another time
a chance for taking
as heart to hand
– this silence
aches
. . .
tornadoday 