“He was still too young to know that the heart’s memory eliminates the bad and magnifies the good, and that thanks to this artifice we manage to endure the
burden of the past.”
Blown by the breeze of your passing
Branches sweep the evidence of you away
Spinning dirty tornadic wisps bare false witness
Evidence of our union, gone down a dusty way
I wander past the forks of choices gone wrong
Seeing pieces of your love hanging on the thorns
Finding you though you hide among shapeless brush
Setting my heart to the trail, I am endlessly torn
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Passing metaphor, a poets choice, the invisible muse that inspires the pen to move and curve, this poem takes the reader to another time and place, where the heart seperates from the body,
is how the words make me feel, awsome job!
-Michael
LikeLike
Passing metaphor, a poets choice, the invisible muse that inspires the pen to move and curve, this poem takes the reader to another time and place, where the heart seperates from the body,
is how the words make me feel, awsome job!
-Michael
LikeLike