Life in Poetry
Jul. 29, 2017
Your dead imagesits inside mepale facelong washed hennaed hairlong eyelashes closedtraces of cold soreon your ice frozen lipsI ache insidemy head for youto wake, to breatheyou lie thereI walk slowly round youscavenging for lifescreams and howlsof despair and lossbounce round the roomI know afterwards they are minemy love my hopemy soulmate gonethree islandswake youbehind glass doorseach with their owndeath of yougreen curtainsend a part of life.
25.11 | 22:15
Grief is experience through the mundane. Simple but powerful. The accompanying image really compliments the poem.
07.11 | 11:14
A great observation! Social media can be a scary place... I also need to reduce my time there
06.11 | 16:24
A great one, Peter, in the context you describe. I don't read social media myself, I doubt my equilibrium could stand it. 'The balance of his mind disturbed' yes, I think it would be.
06.11 | 15:59
Yes, gossip is a weapon of mass destruction.
In my business as well as personal life I have zero tolerance.
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