The storm arrives without warning,
fury consumes hurt, suddenly casting
a dark shroud across our blue skies,
over the angry sea, gray like wet slate.
Even at a safe distance, we can no longer protect
our moors from being thrashed upon
by tempestuous surf, uninvited to our private beach.
We do not have the strength and courtesy
to hold on to threadbare ghosts of our years.
Once tender now lies tossed,
heaped in a corner of tattered pain.
Traveling down broken and divided roads,
our backs turned, hearts chilled;
we walk away from mornings that once were,
to mornings that will never be the same again.
Le petit lapin espiègle à la veste bleue vous a toujours séduit par ses facéties et vous souhaitez en savoir plus sur celle qui lui a donné vie, ce blog vous ouvre la porte du monde fascinant de Beatrix Potter
A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature
“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sailaway from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.” ~ Mark Twain
An Empyrean Cycle
Blurring the lines between poetry and prose
by Lize Bard
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