Friday, February 2, 2024

The Edge - Marc

 THE EDGE

 

The door slams

​making clear

For the first time

​someone so dear

Has gone for the last time

 

Like a brooding fog

​silence hangs in the air

Memories whirl

​while at the door you stare

 

The distance between

​then and now is so small

Standing at the edge

​listening to the past call

 

The closed door

​will become

and ending and beginning

​tomorrow

But now I am in this netherworld

​of change and sorrow

1 comment:

  1. This poem speaks to the reader invoking memories of those miniscule moments between "then and now" touchstone moments. It makes me want to reflect and write. Thanks for sharing!

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