It is not even the memory that was

Bart Wolffe

IT IS NOT EVEN THE MEMORY THAT WAS

No human intimacy, only that dead star reminding

This message goes out, a pulsed thought

Beneath the blind heaven whose walls are taller

Than loss.

Just the fingerless wind attempts to comfort

Stroking my temple, a touch on my brow.

Perhaps, this is it,

The one who stays with me now.

I would make love to the dead

For they are my company.

We share the silence, my lips, their past,

Coming together. Inevitability.

But how can I commune with those

Who no longer have a voice?

The colour of forgotten is black.

It is not even the memory that was.

View original post

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s