Patricia Cresswell Poet Free verse

Grief

Grief

a fluttering of moth wings
turns the air into minute
whorls of short breath.
space does a catstretch to infinity
then curls into a tight ball.

one, one, one

a word once insignificant
echoes through the mind
like midnight footsteps
on a drizzled cobble street.
alone

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White Wolf September 13, 2017 at 7:40 PM You are a very talented poet, Pat! I haven't been around much lately, due to my cyclothymia self. Take care Patricia Cresswell September 13, 2017 at 8:37 PM Megwitch White Wolf. I know of this cyclothymia and I hope you are on the other side.

Peter Rees September 13, 2017 at 10:20 AM Is one ever truly alone when so many cherished memories remain ? Patricia Cresswell September 13, 2017 at 11:12 AM At first I would have to say yes. The period of healing or desensitizing has not yet begun. A raw wound not given time to heal. It is the lack of presence, in the house, the times when I needed a hug and his arms were no longer here. So much more gone and it underlined alone.

Maureen McGreavy Pigeon Tart September 12, 2017 at 7:45 AM Omg. You are very talented my friend. :) Patricia Cresswell September 12, 2017 at 8:59 AM It was written during my time of Irma. All encompassing emotions whipping back and forth. Thank you Maureen.

Melanie Cox September 11, 2017 at 5:25 PM Immensely powerful! That feeling of loss so intense that you cannot breathe. And the emptiness so enormous! Truly sorry for your loss. Patricia Cresswell September 11, 2017 at 6:56 PM Thank you for your understanding Melanie.

Thvia Shetley September 11, 2017 at 3:19 PM The imagery here is powerful. Love how you describe the effect of the fluttering wings on the air, I could see it as smoke. Short and visually effective x Patricia Cresswell September 11, 2017 at 6:51 PM Thank you very much Thai.