This watercolour life is bleeding into a running tap,
colours circling the basin before they disappear.
Desperately I try to snatch them back
but I am only left with wet hands
and grey guts.

I know
we are not promised
eternity this side of heaven
but some
seem
to pass before their time.

I am too weary
of saying goodbye,
too tired to lift my head for the chorus,
too washed out to feel the pain.

So forgive me if I retreat in silence.
My head knows
the sun will rise in the morning.
But my heart still holds the shadows.

 

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Written for d’Verse   (meant for five days ago — I am slower than slow)  on Abhra’s last time as host for d’Verse Poetics prompt.  The prompt: write a poem about the farewell you gave but didn’t mean to.

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