…of reflection
From this dark place
I still see the sun
I still feel the changing seasons
and the stars and the moon
watch over me
but there is no connection
no touch of a gentle hand
I am now but a memory
perhaps a lonely ghost
unseen and wandering
visiting you in dreams
you are no longer mine
I am no longer yours
in fields of endless night
I wander alone
my fingers brushing
against the tall grass
the wind whispers secrets
that I cannot bear to hear
will I ever find peace?
once more I find myself at the river
and I sit and watch it flow by
I close my eyes
and let myself drift away
to another place, another time
when things were simple
and love less complicated
to the time pre-devastation
before my heart became seasoned
in the ways of obfuscation
and as the mistress of evasion
I was clinging to graven images
crafted from wishes and expectations
when I finally open my eyes
I see the beauty around me
in every blade of grass
in the soft songs of river
the warm caress of the sun
and solitude is speaking to me
the gentle art of reflection
©Ann Bagnall
