Donna
Autorin
Every day I miss your scent.
Everything around me reminds me of you since you've went.
My heart is a sparrow wanting to open its wings to fly but only settles onto a branch, with nowhere to go.
And the clipped winter light that inhabits my suspended soul, I am mucked, a swirl of murky interlude that is like riverbed silt blooming to the surface.
I try to dart and glide through the sepia-colored day as if in pond water trying to swim my way to freedom, one tiny breast stroke at a time.
And it's cheesy to say that I am yours and you are forever mine.
But I know this to be true such as the predicament of a stone flung into still waters, not having the chance to catch bliss by skipping happily across before sinking down.
How about the loneliness of a cricket chirping, a shrill sound pricking the thick skin of night.
I am lost in the cacophony of silences carved in moonlight.
© Donna H.
July 18, 2023
Everything around me reminds me of you since you've went.
My heart is a sparrow wanting to open its wings to fly but only settles onto a branch, with nowhere to go.
And the clipped winter light that inhabits my suspended soul, I am mucked, a swirl of murky interlude that is like riverbed silt blooming to the surface.
I try to dart and glide through the sepia-colored day as if in pond water trying to swim my way to freedom, one tiny breast stroke at a time.
And it's cheesy to say that I am yours and you are forever mine.
But I know this to be true such as the predicament of a stone flung into still waters, not having the chance to catch bliss by skipping happily across before sinking down.
How about the loneliness of a cricket chirping, a shrill sound pricking the thick skin of night.
I am lost in the cacophony of silences carved in moonlight.
© Donna H.
July 18, 2023