Holding That Last Tear
I fold the moonlight into soiled papers
reminding myself of torn dreams which refused
to glide, of hearts that crossed different paths
with such throbbing intrusion and regret.
And like a vagrant of the night, the coal
in the throat licks the danger of a flame
set to walk on fire like burnt ash is to ember,
leaving me scorched when he walks away,
without giving myself that last chance to accept
what the heart needed to reveal all along…
if I can just spill one last tear without pride,
then that inner grief would have a name--
and the movement of our eyes could sing,
far beyond the language of riddled words.
But my pinched voice would not open
as if it twiddled on heated eggshells…
a missing link of what chokes the light.
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One Last Tear Contest for Silent One
2/4/2019
Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2019
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