I hear your silence.
And My memory is long
The pain flows deep.
Foundations like the roots that run the length
Of the ancient oak trees,
From which my ancestors hung;
From which the future will hang again.
What is absence, but a clumsy word to forgive what is not
So many words to explain disappearance
Yet too little perspective to truly understand
What is vanishing, a word to describe Empty
It is what it is not
When you no longer hold it in your hand
When it isn't in your pocket
When your memory fails
When the song is over
When forgiveness prevails
When that part of you was part of we;
But I took mine back so there's only me.
Is it longing or death or sorcery?
The fire now only ashes and smoke,
Carried high on the winds of misery and hope.
Autumn Winchester © 8th July 2016