London Poem: Day 145

9 January

It begins slowly, without speech,
Because it was words that
Failed us the night before.
Guilt spatters in tiny flecks,
And in my eyes, though unseen,
Hope lives to bring love back to us.
We are far away by midday.
Allowing the world to spin
Without care for us, or for
What threatens to break.
To get past this, to give
Up the ghost, I would
Allow the world carry you on,
Further, leaving me behind
Just so you know I never
Meant any harm.
But, it’s done, and there
Is merely wishing left to do.
You carry us in your hands.
So, sculptor, what will you make?

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In flux

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