Wind-Blown

 

wind-blown

Moments of the past do not last
days kicked into the long grass
A warm early-summer’s day
gold petals into bloom today.

For God’s sake!
stormy-autumn comes
later, flurries of snow melt
into a body without  heat

Frozen snow above
tumbling-heaps of red, gold, brown
that used to crisp-crackle underfoot
like old ghosts who lose their threads,

Druggies:  their fragile, thin
eyes like skin
echo the savage-silent-dead
of memories-lost, nights storm-tossed inside a head .

Dust-motes float,
like gossamer,
webs
soon, we'll all be dead.

stones glittering in the rain

Words you  thought, but never said,
misrule-is-not-misled,
the very eye of the storm
the vortex: 
a moment of calm,

Old-ghosts finally-fled,
into the very heart of the storm
gripped by chapped, red-raw hands
cast into lost-time’s silent beating drum.

 

Suicide Mortality and Coronavirus Disease 2019: A Perfect Storm? - Lori  Calabrese, MD

 

◄ Born again

Pain ►

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