A poem

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


One thought on “A poem”

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