poetry: One

Death barely born,

Grief a teething babe,

You hover inches above,

Surely,

It feels like yesterday,

You were floating away.

 

Ethereal fact,

The reality hovers, like you,

Over my life,

This, a pretence,

You’ll float right on back.

 

Knife draws open,

The deepest cut,

Heart splinters,

Tears erupt,

Sleep an unreliable friend.

 

Two begins,

Perhaps, to accept,

You floated away.

 

Or, another time vacuum,

Of pretence until,

The knife cuts at three.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.