poem: trapped

15 Sep

there’s dust on the last page of my memories –
i am trapped within the branches of an unforgiving tree
and
chased by black and white flickering images –

a soft voice drills deep within my discontent –
where i stand the water stills into a silver panarama –
her face still holds me, her hands still touch my skin –

i never received a passing grade –
a test written in braille, back in days when i could still see –

a tremor in my hands reminds me of my disrespect –
she said she loved me,

once, a long time ago –


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