Monday, September 29, 2014

A solemn half-year

what kind of despair is this?
it hums
and stirs
it sleeps at times
it swells as even as the tide

the current's cold as lovers' flight
it breaks me open in the night

but like a wound it heals or mends
til time can rip the seam again

and so it does.  it always does
which makes the healing double tough

it always rakes across my heart
it plows me under, e'er we part



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