grief stricken (Remove filter)
ashes from your urn
Ashen grey is the house of remembering.
Before each portal opens,
your faceless bard swoons.
He strikes a drum of bone and brittle whispers;
With cracked powd’ry fingers,
he inscribes your name in dust.
He etches it longer than it ever was,
the curves of your urn.
You gather there your ashes and nourish my soul.
Sunday 24th November 2024 7:26 am
Recent Comments
Red Brick Keshner on "streambound"
3 hours ago
Red Brick Keshner on "where is my oyster?"
3 hours ago
Stephen Gospage on (Half-) Baked Alaska
3 hours ago
Stephen Gospage on Golden Days In the Eternal City – Rome
3 hours ago
Graham Sherwood on His Majesty’s Stay Out of Hell Cards: “Divine Right” and “Convention”
5 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Farewell, Your MAGAsty!
7 hours ago
Rolph David on There Was a Blind Man...............
8 hours ago
Rolph David on Where is THIS Jerusalem?
8 hours ago
Rolph David on Where is THIS Jerusalem?
8 hours ago
Rolph David on Where is THIS Jerusalem?
8 hours ago