Knarled fingers, time etched between the creases
Of broken flesh that with grace, unfurls a yellowing heart
Down upon the ash covered wood.
Through the curling haze contented countenance
Crows with rasping indulgence, knowing once again
Victory will be won with a *****.

In the grass of Lunan Bay the weathered eye
Sketches absently, a distraction from realization-
To care too much is not nearly enough.
Lustrous tones emblazon the fruitless complexion,
Black and blue, beaten with malevolence down
Onto paper that trembles amidst the tempest.

When shall we three meet again?
Dour silence conflicts proclamations,
To do right is to be wronged and the wrong is never put right.
Till the battle is both lost and won,
The lasting spell of time is thine enemy-
Helpless to those who were once freely chained to you.

Only in death does one preserve existence,
Reflections alter with age but the truth is never forgotten.
As I look out to the tranquil sea; life now cold
With unknown depths, endless to optimistic minds-
Through the delicate hands of a child does your
Ashes dance down to their watery grave.
Defending against the neglect of a name do I grasp the torment,
Of never being able to bid you goodbye.

22.06.2010
Anna Elizabeth Rose ©