3 poetry

  1. brace against the storms

    against oceans and the wind

    find the calm within

  2. A Phantom Limb

Deep wounds do not heal.
They lie concealed.
The wounded moves,
always aware of their being.
In time, the wounded becomes the wound,
learns to live, even yearns to live,
in the wound’s dark damaged world.

Asked to return, to go again to
where once he had been whole,
and walked not with this limping gait,
the wounded baulks.
There is no place to go.
He and the wound are one.

Nothing now needs healing.
The former self achieves non-being —
becomes a vagueness, a strangeness,
a severed, decaying part –
a phantom limb.

  1. ​For a moment now

My pages, breathing deeply

Passion’s illusions


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