A warbling, holding, green glass pain
Like joined hands make paper cut
Invisible like girl in crowd, falls
Deep as ink without light
Stinging with clamoring cymbal
Tears almost bare themselves as first night lovers, tremorous
Retreat beyond the naked streets
It is not brutal gnashing strength
But soft lipped resignation
And a little elipsing hope
For bare faced ceasement
Lain like prayers and rushes and thrown flowers wetting paving stones
No ceremony. Only, black cars devoid of dust
A trail without salt. They bent lower to seek. Not yet.
It’s hard to say it. The wind chokes words. Before.
We walk on. Omphalos in fatigued lament
Toward reprieve, illuminate in muted tempest.
9 thoughts on “We cried a long time ago. We don’t cry anymore.”
Reblogged this on cabbagesandkings524 and commented:
TheFeatheredSleep – Walking on, and on
Where might it lead
A path to walk or crawl
In search of reprieve
For absolution of sins
That may not be our own?
The wind chokes words.
The first and the last lines are wonderful. What a gift you have for descriptive prose.
Circling in a widening gyre, the center will not hold …
oooohhhh yes! I loved this.
Usual splendid imagery
Love your poem! Well done! ❤
Thank you so very much
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