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Poem



like a waltz with her guilt for a soldier and son

like a foetus that hears and fears fallout’s begun


like the praise for a man who once lit up her floor

like the things we can't find but are still searching for


like a warm song of summer through night scented mist

like the bride who wore black crossing names off her list


like an old heart that pines for a young heart instead

like the drifting in dunes with the sands that run red


like the fun that's had rocking as violins play

like the hate we may hide and hope passes one day


like the wife who penned letters while left on the shelf

- it’s the good and the bad that emerge fom one's self.

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