In ceilings and cracks it peeps
From corners doused in darkness it speaks
Was this not engraved in memory-
Embossed and sealed secretly?
From torchered dreams, we awake from sleeping
Into misty nights we emerge, craving
Looking for that which will ground us
That which will divine our speech
That which will draw us closer despite the pain of living purely through memory.
Copyright © Bianca Jones | Year Posted 2013
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