A slow buried fervor
hollows in my heart’s wound
slips my pen forward
in the haste of my moods

I carry the grief from inside
as the mourning
feels stained in my soul’s tide

Friendships have flown away
through the winds
scattered too thin

An old blown marriage
bleeding in salted tears
as I leave the stage

Freed in their wings
my small angels fly
towards their own sky

My shell passes in the grind
even if I don’t want to unwind
I’ll write again
at the threshhold of pain

I write these words alone
an appeasement to my aging bones

Copyright ©2005 Johanne Farmer