Life is a strange journey. I never thought that I would, never intended to write poetry but here I am. I am retired on the Manchester side of the Peak District in the UK.
Forking paths like a magnet's repulsive force smooth and caressing but no matter how hard the push touching for a moment then gliding apart like a tower of babel cursed not by god but by sad and solitary flights from Egypt the botched communication a distortion of the truest love Like a chasm dishearteningly deep hatching a shocking reality and setting in motion numb and trance-like steps towards the heartsick aftermath Like a preposterous dream listening for a knock with heedless ears unable to raise frost-bitten hands to break the ice Like a soundless lament a twist of sadness , a glimmer of memory and the latitude of a stormless harbour is some sort of substitute
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Viewed 179 times since 18 Oct 2017
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