This ache hasn't dissipated in 44 days.
Its consistency has shifted, immigrated...
wreathe of words sprout upon doorstep bed
beneath a far-looking moon, whisper to ear...
Jagged and tattered,
my edges are frayed...
at that tender age when one still believed
openly bleeding wounds make for devotion...
What do you do
when you can no longer...
Do you stay up at night
thinking of our crusades...
Refuse the memories,
the knowledge of...
Leveraging the greater good against the warmth of...
Belies a train of thought better to divide and...
It's not just the miles that you might travel
But the sights that you visit in between...
In the quiet of winter's end,
Where frost once claimed its reign...
It never gets old, this haunting refrain,
In the quiet of my mind, you still remain...
Nah, poetry does not have limits
It’s similar to mathematics...