My naked soul
lies in fragments
torn asunder
in a fit of rage.
The scars heal over
time and space
and in-between
the passing hours,
minutes, days.
A heart was broken
and left to die;
and stutteringly
to pump the life-blood
spirit on the floor.
A question asked
to trust another
and let them in to
see this naked, beating
heart and spirit mind.
An answer given
in breathless whisper.
Wait.
© Eleanor Clark
12 June, 2013
No comments:
Post a Comment