Friday, December 16, 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

No comments:

Post a Comment