Tuesday, 23 September 2014

My Reluctant Muse

His brows have turned white,
And perhaps that is the reminder
That has loomed over us all
Like the phantom peril that awaits
Only to befall each story that ever begins...
When I sense his presence,
And a silence, pregnant with words
That have not escaped his wise mouth
In months that seem like years, that
Have not been touched by rain,
And when the earth has torn itself apart,
I fill the spaces that occupy the inches
Between us with smiles that erupt
When tears would have preferred a release,
And words that sprout when
Question marks prevail...

There is only so far that our journeys mix--
We must learn to walk alone...

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