Fading Of Shadows

It is the eighth hour of shadowy fog,
And she writhes on dampened sheets
 with frozen anguish thawing minutes 
weighed on jagged umbra of night's hoot.

Somehow,  silhouettes of light 
begin to kindle as 
the bleak of hours mirror
her own disquiet from love's demise,
 remembering faces of kin
smelling of tar and mint , knitting arms
 flamed though morn's play, 
then doused by ink of eve ~ 
all gone in a flash.

She quivers quietly    hums her way 
through the glass pane,  
this time aware that she inhabits
 life gently , slowly; 
her long shadows of fear,
of abandonment, of venial sins
desecrating her newfound grip
of wholeness... not anymore.

enduranceintrospectiondramatic verse

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Craig Cornish

October 9, 2025 at 11:26 AM

You have such a gift with art poetically and otherwise, thank you for this, another journey into the midst of existence that too many disregard or shun...