Where I Found You

July 11, 2015 - Poetry

A beam of light,

patterned like gold,
flew down from the sun.
The beam touches you.
You are so very cold.

Water’s fingers
made you so. Some hand,
angry and ambitious, rose
up and hurt lingers.

You were as bright
as goldenrod.
Before grass and earth
closed ’round you tight.

What must have been,
Now may never be.
Flowers and apologies
help nothing, but seem

to make deep wounds
grow salty. With strength
We must all do our best
to make something new.

› tags: Poetry /

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