From sadness grows hope,
within a broken heart lies a gaping wound tethered and torn,
it’s walls breached time and again with tears cascading down this severed vessel scarred by your absence
and I’m sick of it all……
Whipering ghosts from our moments white, seep through these searing barbs of endless reminisce,
until the grieving quietens and calm shatters into eternal despair,
rage cries for what is missed most regarding your sweet smile, hand to hold, or sun just about to shine,
because you knit these raw serated edges back together with your soft touch of silk and cinder….
From hope grows faith,
albeit your heavy cross laying by sides, as you sit relieved and quiet by our ‘stoneyed stile’
awaiting the light, the path and spring of light footsteps to arrive from the pains of being here
where I sit, sick of it all……..
©Nick Hawkins, All Poetry rights reserved