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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