Thursday, 3 August 2017

Nothing. It's OK.

<Audio>

She is looking at what we will see, one day.
Through closed eyes she stares,
with not a flicker. There's the
low, slow, bated breath,
ventriloquising
what we
cannot
hear,
or
see,
or feel.
A longing
to be at rest.
The last breath
of stillness at the end,
with not a flicker. There's
stares, at tears screwed of my eye's
longing, just to see her, seeing me, one day.

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