3 Lost Poems

Standard

 

 

This volume is heavy.

The Blue Fairy

has written her scrawl

in capitals.

I keep the book hidden

from eyes

that might now

be able

to understand

and decipher

the dedication.

 

 

 

The missing one

gave me gifts

in plated silver

with etched

meanings.

Ransacking, I hunt to

assemble some form of sense.

I find a small carriage clock.

You can peek through the

intricate embellishments

to see what lies behind.

I squeeze very tight

forcing painful patterns

into my palms.

Time has now ceased.

 

 

 

They‘ve tweeted your time

ethereal pics on line.

How very modern!

 

 

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