Another from the archives today. 2010.
Rushes in my ears and heart.
Facing my fears … on my own.
It hurts. It stings
And my voice. Quiet and alone.
Talking to myself now
But I’m used to that.
My shadow taunts me
It would. That shadow haunts me once more.
And alone. Yeah. I do that.
Summer dry dust from my trudging feet
Each tired footfall a protest
Against this earth that bore me
So long ago
Bitter ashes once more
No phoenix rising
Even those firebirds grow old
Become weary of life
Refuse to grow from once bright embers
And settle down in cold ashes
To contemplate that last flowering
That joy now gone
Dust to summer parched dust
Ashes to choking cold ashes
A cry from a heart beating still
A tear from my soul
Anguish in loss
Burning with cold.
© 2010 Stan Rogers. All rights reserved.
