If I forget…


The slow blissful days filled

With miraculous nothings

Are with you


The light hand reaching out

To whisk me from the dark, cold places I sometimes live in

Is your hand


The names, the dates, the places, the faces

And finally, fatally, 



Like my father before me


Please know

I am not me

And letting go

Is not treason

◄ The burning of one's church

The dreaded train ►


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Thu 25th Apr 2019 19:36

Mona, thank you very much for your kind words

mona s

Thu 25th Apr 2019 18:55

Beautifully rendered and heart tugging one..

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Thu 25th Apr 2019 12:23

Thank you Jason for reading and taking the time to comment

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Jason Bayliss

Thu 25th Apr 2019 06:36

Really, very touching. Beautifully put.


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