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■ I know what you're thinking, father
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A slow buried fervor
hollows in my heart’s wound slips my pen forward in the haste of my moods I carry the grief from inside as the mourning feels stained in my soul’s tide Friendships have flown away through the winds scattered too thin An old blown marriage bleeding in salted tears as I leave the stage Freed in their wings my small angels fly towards their own sky My shell passes in the grind even if I don’t want to unwind I’ll write again at the threshhold of pain I write these words alone an appeasement to my aging bones Copyright ©2005 Johanne Farmer
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