mossy crow
She said my words fit her like shadows in the dusk,
Soft, heavy, where sorrow dares to trust.
Yet she wonders - if these lines I weave and bend.
Are signs of a heart too broken to mend.
But oh- how sweet the ache I now hold,
As if misery's finger have turn me gold.
No longer chasing the ghost of her face,
I craft from wounds time cannot erase.
I do not fester - I burn, I glean,
A heart that bleeds is a heart that dreams.
And if pain is the price for words that stay,
Let it carve me deeper, day by day.
For love has touched me - - then turned aside,
Left me to drown in the ebbing tide.
yet here I stand, not lost, not blind,
A poet of soul-not just a mind.
So let her fear for what she cannot see-
I have not broken-I have set myself free.
pale lintel
elfin solstice
gaunt hatch