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tilamaPoems
Neither are you here nor done having slipped so quietly into the great not knowing, small strands of you still tied to my belly the rest now illusory although misleading might be a better word for something that draws such compelling lines to an indefinite space. If a lifeline holds me here, what do I call the lines to you? The paradox is, the death-line holds me here just as much Perhaps it binds me so securely to the nothingness that I am held still, safe, here, then A short life, waiting to dissolve to meet you A greater life, rested in your impression A happier life, to have known you only gone because you would be here to begin.
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Sep 5, 2019
Sep 5, 2019 at 4:37 PM UTC
Held Still
Neither are you here nor done having slipped so quietly into the great not knowing, small strands of you still tied to my belly the rest now illusory although misleading might be a better word for something that draws such compelling lines to an indefinite space. If a lifeline holds me here, what do I call the lines to you? The paradox is, the death-line holds me here just as much Perhaps it binds me so securely to the nothingness that I am held still, safe, here, then A short life, waiting to dissolve to meet you A greater life, rested in your impression A happier life, to have known you only gone because you would be here to begin.
For all those I have loved and lost, but who are never really lost.
#love#loss#death
Written by
tilama
60/Sydney
Sep 5, 2019
Sep 5, 2019 at 4:37 PM UTC
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