Wednesday, August 08, 2012

Looking Back

I am here,
but he whom was me has gone
from all my memory
but for these pages.

Deep, deeper, deep down inside
the dim shadow of that spark hides.
A spark once warmed by spring and fuelled by summer,
languishes in this damp cool greyness.

I am not unhappy, but I am not on fire,
and the annual ritual of shining forth
is squeezed between two clouds,
one that rains words on this page
and the other that shies from big skies.

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