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Jenny Gordon Jan 2019
...for in Thee do I trust--"



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCXLV)


Ah, dismal hours in black and white! the pale
Eye of this languid dawn admits fr'intents
Ne colour on that scale, the cold from hence
Mair bitter cuz which note cries in betrayl?
The blacktop scraped in shovling to avail
Our passage looks the colder with a sense
We feel within our bones, to want from thence
Morn's *** of tea to hearten souls like's bail.
And yet we have Thy Scriptures, LORD.  This tour
Of snowy vistas to remind anew
That our souls shall be "white as snow--" more pure
Than my heart's yearnings as I think now too
Of three years ere when Mum's death was as twere
Made all the more stark by this icy view.

14Jan19a
*Mum was buried 14Jan16*
Guy Furniture Feb 2016
We're tired of faking our emotions.
With the bottles we pour.
We lay on the floor.
Passed out, aching and sore.
Afraid that we bore.
Crying down to the core.
It'll get better I'm sure.
Yeah, I'm sure it will.
Straight downhill.
Your feelings still.
Feeling ill.
No useful skills.
Till you spill.
Then what?

— The End —