The impending steps
elicit fear,
stirrings of almosts
and never agains.
Taunts of was and were
fading behind me,
slipping into the vast
tunnel of time - life’s encasement -
in which I continue to turn back
and call out.
Echoes are the reply,
and I forge ahead, toward the end,
turning, crying.
“Where are you Sweet,
Other Self?
Stay with me, Fading Echo:
my familiar songbird!
Carry me through tomorrow
as you did yesterday.”
All Rights Reserved: Elizabeth Bohlander Wilson
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
No comments:
Post a Comment