Paul Willason | + Follow Poet |
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The Missing

The sun now stalls
halfway up its climb
and skims a course
barely above the trees.
The swallows have gone.

Spaces once filled
with brightly coloured wings
and crawling things
are now empty. 
What is missing
has hollowed out
the day and left nothing
but vacated shells 
and casings hanging 
like trophies 
on abandoned webs.
An absence has taken hold.
You move into the gaps
left by others, make trinkets 
of ice to hang on branches
that have lost their leaves.

Every winter
is the same, has you
gathering what remains
of yourself, trying to fill
the spaces left 
by what is missing,
knowing you can't,
and never will
as each winter passes
you lose a little more
of yourself until, one day,
there will be nothing left
and you will become 
the thing that is missing.

Copyright © Paul Willason | Year Posted 2023

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Lin Lane Date: 5/28/2023 8:55:00 AM Doesn't Winter bring with it such sad thoughts? The forbidding cold, blankets of snow that covers Earth's beauty... on and on, but once it's grip has loosened, we have a rebirth of so many lovely things. We must accept the chill of Winter to better appreciate the warmth of Spring. Excellent lines, Paul. Login to Reply Paul Willason Date: 5/28/2023 6:24:00 PM True words Lin, Winter is often a weighted time...a time for reflection, turning over memories, prodding the sleeping thoughts of mortality. Strangely I find it comfortable...inside enjoying the warmth...excuses abound to do nothing but read and write. Value yr comments Lin

John Lawless Date: 5/27/2023 6:41:00 AM and all too often they /we go missing long before they/we are gone. A very sharp and sad poem Paul. For Winter is cold and lacks feeling. Login to Reply Paul Willason Date: 5/28/2023 5:32:00 AM Thanks John....very much value your comments.