The Shawl

The worn, frayed silk shawl lies in my lap

Withered indigo dreams clasping onto each other

By groaning gossamer threads

The faint scent of hope lingers in the weary fabric

Caressed by these pensive, yearning fingers

The sun drapes its light across my bared shoulders

With a quiet kiss, the kind that drills into the soul

Unveiling soul

The shawl- you draped it round my shoulders

In a manner that transcended

The quiet kiss, the piercing gaze

That bled simple gifts

The ones you did not know you gave

In the seasons before the jading of my soul

The worn, frayed silk shawl lies in my lap

No one arranges it across my shoulders

Taking care it does not slip

The threads groan under the weight of sorrow

Overwhelmed by the song of tears

I set it aside

Observe how it is claimed by the waves of time

I wrap myself in a new shawl.

 

 

Reviews

[Larry Dyson]

well just an unannounced visit to see if you were in the midst of tests and perhaps allowed to breathe and think or rather sleep normal thoughts...? LAury

[Larry Dyson]

the soft slowly sliding shawl ,of no weight but ponderous heavy implication..truly lovely

[Emily B]

you were always a top shelf poet, but your wings are showing now

[Ed Hart]

your poetry has grown wings

[A.A.Romanczuk]

the light has breathed in

[Em]

Good work! You write so lovely!