A life in poems – Page 171

11/20/2020

It’s a tale as old as
Sliced bread…

As the ink dries
Everything falls
Into place…

The petals wilt
As Winter nears

We dance by ourselves
Alone in the dark
The fire didn’t catch
When we gave it a spark…

The water rises like a flood
Onto the streets, still red with blood…

The storm surrounds me
Walking the path…

Steepled hands
Ants within at prayer…

It’s all there
In a microscopic moment…

Water for the peace lily
Bowl without a fish…

Inertia of a shattered world-view…