Slow to the quick, inflict these maddening wounds —deeper yet for the intrusion of time by trust. Fresh cuts will take a stitch, leaving contoured maps in tangled depiction of when or where, but never how, or—most vexing—why. Dare to reassemble, reorder, uplifted by soothing breath. Remember, Atlas bore no less than the sky above.
Tag: poetry
#Hiraeth
Drunk on serotonin cocktails, up, always with a twist, midnight to sunrise tonics of choice. In dreams we visit these places. Reclaiming forfeited promises. It’s a wonder – purest nostalgia for places unseen, experiences unexperienced. I invent memories, what we would have done in years un-lost. I build by force the life you left from… Continue reading #Hiraeth
Hours, Yet
Close your eyes and believe once. What’s the harm in the latest of afternoon sun, white gold. The days are getting longer again, after all. There was a day when everything changed. And then another. They come, and come, and still the light is golden. It’s quiet, blessedly so. All fervor in abatement.… Continue reading Hours, Yet
caroline ridgway 