A long time we’ve waited, breath baited,
For the furious falling of the year.
And now we see the grey-brown world coated in glass
And powdered finely with dust as its year is coming to a close,
And none too soon.
This year has not been good to us –
We’ll be glad to set it on the shelf in the cupboard well-filled with other years.
This final week of weeping skies
Petrifies all the weeping days
And sets them all away…
Away to sail on the sea we’ve made,
Wept in corners and kitchens and beds –
Late at night,
While our demons fought
Over our heads.
Mayhap next year will be better, mayhap brighter.
This year here we’ll still remember
But perhaps not
For ages and ages to come –
When we are better equipped to handle it
And when all our sorrow is well and done.
©The Wild Poesy, 2012-2016. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.