The days pass like beads
along a necklace of tears
I am as driftwood floating
on humanity's aimless tide,
rise pale and naked,
washed, scoured by tears.
Heart's a solid piece,
eyes see only stones and crows.
No playful symphony of birds,
only soughing of wind in pines.
A lonely cavity couched in emptiness,
words drip and ripples expand.
After a momentous day,
the ensuing days
follow one another sheepishly
in pale comparison
to the extraordinary events
of that incredible day.
Whether I look back
in wonder and delight
or creep haltingly,
counting days or stitches,
I founder in the return
to routine and normalcy.
Days drip slowly like tears,
a string of rosary beads
and I question that once
having tasted Heaven or Hell,
can I stomach banality
and paste a smile?
© Jennifer Phillips (All rights reserved)
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| Beads - a chain of tears © Jennifer Phillips |
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