steeples bent – tornadotoday

beyond the night
I sometimes go
when all the lights
are left –
moments unresolved
to time’s caress
– the needle
on the gas gauge
warned us
one more time until
we’d soar into the madness
scorch another sun
while looking back
on one more
grain of sand

in the stillness
left us lost –
aligned with stars
and counting lives
two hundred
would we know
the road ahead –
where steeples bent
apart from
numbers grieved
tears already falling
into rain

black the ash
was worn for man –
gave of truth
placed my hand
above the place we shared
times to leave
and eighteen more
sundays yet to question
years would fade
beyond our will
to stay

there are nights
I dare not close my weary eyes
forgetting once again
the way
we breathe

. . .

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Published by grumpygorman

I am a Social Worker by day and an artist/writer by night. I use the written word in an attempt to make sense of the secret worlds and dysfunctional dynamics that lurk beneath the facades of our daily interactions. I am not sure how my writing styles are characterized, nor am I overly concerned about it. I am immensely enthusiastic about music and often connect better with songs than I do people. I also have an intense appreciation for quality wines and whiskies, frequently consuming them in excess. I like things that smell good and struggle to manage the symptoms of a life-long relationship with depression. So, why "grumpygorman"? Spend some time here and find out...

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