London Poem: Day 237

11 April

Waiting countless hours
To give our life away.
Not in finality, but
The comfort we had grown
Accustomed to.
Your eyes,
Bright and brim with worry,
Not the slightest bit
Blind to the struggle
Of the oncoming days.
For now, we wait in
The same tawny space
Between what you want,
And what is letting go
Of the certainty of this, that –
It is all just the hopeful
Wish for safety.

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Published by

keelancrampsey

In flux

3 thoughts on “London Poem: Day 237”

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