A poem

by

Days are tissue paper woven.
Darkness not just of the night.
Sadness laboring to give birth to the next moment.
And you wonder if this passes.
Or stays tight like flesh on bone.
And hope whats coming will sweep what was into small piles to be thrown far, so far away.
You know that melody still plays even when so much is deaf and heavy and slow.
There is more and smell and song come and the lightness is not in the air but of you.
Fear is only of a season and not of your heart
Time spins new days first quiet and hesitant and then more and full and life thought lost is found anew

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One Response to “A poem”

  1. Leslie Neshama Says:

    This is simply beautiful.
    Thank you from my grateful <3.

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