Tuesday, September 6, 2005

Expression, creation, and freedom V


Words swirl like the shadows of falling leaves
lacking substance they mock their form.
Unreal and discourteous as the truth
upon whose boughs the heart is torn.

Recollection stokes the hidden embers
gaining weight the words catch fire.
"Sorry" and "love" no longer sooth
they merely raise the burning ire.

The words are naught but ashes now
a barren visage of the world that was.
No feeling, no hope, and no tomorrow
an endless world of pain and dust.

But there is more that is to come
out of the view of tear-filled eyes.
The heart will spring new blossoms soon
and like the fabled phoenix rise.

So don't fear to grieve now as you will
take it days or weeks or years.
In the garden of our cherished memories
the flowers are watered by our tears.

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