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Poem

I whisper your name

                Feel the familiar soothing sounds and rhythms

               As they slowly tumble over my wracked torn lips,

              See them free-fall in to the abyss, ever downward

                Unseen, unheard by a busy disinterested World.



                       In that whisper I feel the loss

                   Each parting syllable cutting the memory

            Slicing as a switchblade brandished by a callous hand,

         Leaving me bleeding and afraid, yet indifferent to my fate -

               And wrestling with your final and ebbing chorus.



            But on the breeze, into the azure, your name is bourn!

         Whisked by unseen hands, carried on the zephyrs soft breath

                Eastward and homeward to Natures tender bosom,

           Away to a World unaltered, one which does not mourn loss

                    Has not the inclination nor the time.



                   It is there, among the daisies and hocks

                    And mingled with the hawthorn whites,

                   That the tussling, warm west wind pauses,

               And slowly as feather dusted pollen, you settle,

                      Midas rests, and my heart is gold.

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