Slip-Wind
How easily words are lost in times slip-wind,
only recalled in dusks blanket,
just before jealous sky
releases heavens jewels.
A sigh, held in stubborn ego's grip, struggling to escape
from behind lips; pursed, finally bleeds,
only to fail at the closed door.
Nothing left to burn; memories lie like ashes
in a cold fire-place.
Copyright © Colin Marschall | Year Posted 2007
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