After a while, it will come
and then, belatedly,
you will begin to recognise
who you are, dressed in these
clothes you used to wear, when days
were more familiar. Then. Before.
You'll begin to like the stranger in yourself.
Give hope. Give breath. Give your heart
some peace, for those you loved,
that were your life,
whom you adored and still do.
Polish the picture frames and now empty shelves,
rearrange the books, lay the letters to rest,
peel yourself away from then.
Look. You are alive.
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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