The ghost of you hangs
In the air, heavy -
But by the grace of it
I am hanging on by the
Thinnest, slipping thread.
Stillness wraps around
The night, like the
Guardian of some rare thing.
Shhh - and I wait.
Wait for the hushed
Earth to confess its
Secrets against my
Battle-weary skin,
Give me back my
Living soul, give me
Comfort - give me something.
But the earth is silent.
There is only quiet,
And your name whispered
Like a holy word.
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Author:
CindyB (
Offline) - Published: June 8th, 2019 20:21
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 8
- Users favorite of this poem: Fay Slimm.
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Comments1
Your writing has that something so special Cindy - this haunting lament aptly captures the pain of loss and of waiting in silence for comfort....... a compelling read and one for my favourites.
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