I reach for you when my soul is dreary
when the choice between "one more time”
and " not ever" leaves me
screaming at the edge of surrender,
white as pale sand , not knowing
what is "right" and what "could have become".
You reach for me when the whitened zephyr
is one last breath – as the tenor
of your voice pulls me from this
empty existence. This haunting ghost
of life’s chapters hisses , devoid of light
slain by a frosty cry dressed as goodbye.
But, should I stand within the realm
of mercy that comes from letting go
or the promise of your grains re-echoing
while brushed in your embrace ...
I choose the quite of my own power.
Sound Of Color Contest