Brief and Still

by Sunshine   Jun 23, 2025


I like to think
that he walks me still-
in the loud, faceless crowd
and the hush of old trees.

I think I feel him in the warmth of light,
and the caressing breeze.

His love to me was brief,
but I like to think of his love
as the earth on which I fall,
and so, I stand.

Maybe he walks me still
though I no longer reach for his hand.

    report violation
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Latest Comments

  • 3 months ago

    by Simon Hayes

    Poignant and deep. A tender poem about loss and enduring connection. That final line, "though I no longer reach for his hand" carries such powerful acceptance. It's melancholy and yet comforting. Beautifully penned.

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