Grip To Hope
A desire of truth only his pleasant warmth
can provide comfort. As I age tears and disquiet
are my reward. I'm saddened by reality.
I, an old brittle woman has lost sketched
from memory, crystal sparks adoring our life
all replaced with winter's sleep and loneliness.
For I am weak, searching, reaching for what is,
really is. Drowning, struggling through
the chilly winds with aching darkness.
Day after dark day, my home, a sealed coffin;
in a bitter resentment detestable world.
Crazed, I gaze out at verge of night
at the gnarled sky and beyond
and grip to hope unwilling to let go.
1/13/2020
Aching
Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2020
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