Time folded within the folds of the sleeves.
It drips, drips, drips, drips into a memory.
A mess of recollection portrayed in seconds.
It drips, drips, drips, drips by a faded smell.
The presence of his essence fleetingly felt.
It drips, drips, drips, drips as salt is tasted.
Colour faded by fuzzy shading as it slips by.
It drips, drips, drips, drips as the tears fall.
Written Dec 01, 2014
YOU ARE READING
Snapshots of Pain, Grief And Loss
PoetryA selection of where the darkest/loneliest/grieving ruminations and experiences from different time periods in life have been placed. Warning Triggers! It is not for light reading and if your in a dark place, please avoid. This book comes in three...
