Monday, March 21, 2011


Puzzle pieces piled upon the table
Moments carefully measured and cut
Respites sandwiched between what is and what won’t become
Not wandering in my mind anymore into tomorrows
I flail helpless against the inevitable
I choke on my burning unshed tears
I grieve the erosion of self
I step away from plans
Now my focus sharpens upon the fallen leaves under my feet
Instead of next Spring’s buds
How cruel, to lose the future

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

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