Seasons
The seasons move
Outlining the shape of your shadow
a cold bite cast a glow
through the center of the abyss
Grief-struck, fresh and new
though blurred before
by new life first
Grief focus's on the absence
your presence
in the seasons of my live
where you should be
where you are not.
My gaze toward places
our coven of women should be
Realization struck
-nothing will remove it
This gaping void
where your love should be.
Copyright © Tara Jennings | Year Posted 2014
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