What Matters…

What we hold in the palm of our hands,

delicate gift, the heart understands.

What we possess but forget

in the wake of regret

withers in shadow

of doubt.

 

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Fragrant remains of desire,

kindling for funeral pyre,

The bits that you clutch,

have so numbed your touch,

while faint memory lingers

I slip through your fingers

as dust in the wind

and no way to mend

the bridge that once

called you a friend.

Forgotten.

 

CKP copyright words and Photo

2018

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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