Poem: Live

She’ll live until you make her die
Her hair grows longer and blonder.
She’s a shrill reminder of who you are
Of where you came from
Of whom you love.
With a buried instinct to pursue
The meaning of self you move
In and out of awkward shadows
To find nothing but an uninformed dawn each day
And an ignorant moon at night.
Scuttle not into false forgetting fields,
To artificial seclusion and haven
From the fears and pain you hold.
Let go. Move on and start to feel,
To feel the air to become more real.
Flowers open in your garden,
Let your heart follow them.

April 2004


One Comment Add yours

  1. Your writing is so powerful!

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