Cards scatter across this black lake:
they arrive, sealed with love,
and are shuffled in those early morning reviews;
reviving moments that spring to mind.
They are higgledy-piggledy messages of warmth.
Like sentries they guard
this cold, black marble headstone,
settled like jutting memorials.
A reminder of life and death.
Memories pass over our eyes, scudding along,
like reflected clouds over this black lake.
But they have stilled -
strong, almost solid, hanging reminders -
gaining power as they accumulate.
Yet they are fragile, these clouding memories;
unable to protect against fire or water, nor anguish or hope,
neither do they hold against tears that drop
onto this black lake.
For tears are, and will be, shed over these cloudy cards.
Literary killings: I am literally penning a poem every week for a year. Inspiration is taken from various poets (see labels on each poem).
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