Tuesday, September 21, 2010
A slippery step on the ice is hard to take
When the weight of past seasons won't go away
Summer left swiftly and wordlessly
Every un-answer remains a mystery
The bright shatterings of Fall are on the floor
And there are skeletons knocking at the door
- not begging for tricks or sweets -
The ghosts are my own. They haunt relentlessly.
With the facade of holding on -
- the reality of letting go
Their words talk,
Their laughter echoes,
Their sadness cries -
Into my ears
and out from my eyes.
You're just in time.
To hear me say,