London Poem: Day 172

5 February

So far the lines blur
Before words are ever spoken.
Half-involved by mere presence,
It’s difficult to deny our life
Ended that night.
The life we knew, resting
Flush with the earth, breathless,
We are children with only faint
Memories of where we once were.
From here there is only
Recreation, and then sleep to
Hide from the uncertainty of
What may come.
Be sure, though, lives may drift
Apart, love follows the same path
It has always known.

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