Saddness
It’s always there Sadness Waiting In the psalm of morning In the bustle of the afternoon In the cerulean serenity of evening Like the soldiers In the trenches of Somme Eavesdropping on no man’s land Gripping their rifles Like nursery blankets Silently reciting the Lord’s Prayer. It lives beneath the speckled earth In the rumble of dreams The prelude of rain The epitaph of a teenage kiss The epilogue of regret In the songs that turn your heart Into mortar and pestle dust. And it’s engraved in the faces of the forgotten Who live in the exile of pictures Behind the longhand of fragile boxes That was written in the calligraphy of my mom Who knew As a tortured child That she had to warn me Of what lay ahead. Like Comment Share