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Sarah Spang
Poems
Jan 2021
Seven
Seven times we've danced around
That darkest mark of days,
Drifting past the gravity
From whence his path did stray.
Seven journeys round a sun
That no more knows the shade
Of eyes that witnessed 22
And barely more a day.
Seven trips and many moons
Spent staring at the sky,
Wishing I could raise my wrist
And grasp the reasons why
Seven's worth of dreams in which
The 'why' evades me still
And why I when I caress the skin
I feel naught but the chill.
Seven come and seven gone
And seven on my skin
And yet untouched by seven are
The memories of him.
Written by
Sarah Spang
28/F/Philadelphi, Pennsylvania
(28/F/Philadelphi, Pennsylvania)
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