Mystery She Wrote Part 3
Void
As the mundane morning
Came to an end,
I sat in the marquee
Of my thoughts,
Every last flicker of sun,
Brings back the pain undone.
It longs back ages ago,
Started when, I can’t remember,
Like the vigilant and watchful snow,
It came back in December.
This pain bringing back,
The memories of the departed
And the uncertainty,
Of more greater loss,
What starts has to end,
And that’s how,
The circle bends,
It’s nearly august now,
The chilly rains,
Has begun to bow,
The sloppy streets,
Whispers of the plot,
The world where,
The deceased now trot.
Its peace in death,
Pain in living,
Harmony in dying,
Yet god is unforgiving,
There’s so much to learn,
In this world,
So much truth in the ground,
So much to ask of life,
So much to be found.
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