He’d built a life’s path brick by brick

Held together by sand and stick


It rivalled her wall of crumbling stone

They stood together completely alone


She felt she knew him all of his life

But couldn’t understand the edge of the knife


Sharpened by resistance, ready to slice

the red thread between them, not once but twice


Once in dreams, another in hope

She tried to bind with frayed rope


To save the love that did exist

That blinded him with all he missed


He retreated to what he always knew

And clipped the bird of chance that flew


Holding tight the dust of path and wall

With the feathers, she then did call


“Will the storyteller open the book

And let the listener have a look?”


He threw the book, pages all scattered

The ending undone, none of it mattered


She gathered the chapters and tried to read

But the words turned red and started to bleed


Over her hands, the feathers, and the dust

Were then all sodden with fear and mistrust


Her fingers stained she began to think

and started writing with this unusual ink


a new story about a path and a wall

and a bird nesting there that was ever so small


but it grew over time and flew up to the sky

beyond the moon and the sun and never did die


© Katy Hughes 2012




◄ Gentleman Caller

Choice or Dilemma? ►


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Nigel Astell

Tue 1st Jan 2013 17:20

Path of time
Sun and Moon
Will it fly
Back to you
Rope sealing tight
Truth and hope
To end lies
Fear and mistrust.

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Rose Casserley

Sun 30th Dec 2012 23:06

good poem!

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