Having relived the past within the memories I have kept,
my depression as drearily I retraced every footstep I had taken…
I regret having done so; facing what I had
Feeling the same sorrow and pain which h I had previously felt…
It has always led to my
detriment.
Reliving is what I grew to despise. She never portrayed herself
as being an opportunist. One, taking advantage
of a situation, leaving those less
fortunate fending for
themselves.
Rather, she preferred to be identified as being a vague memory
thought of every now and then, but less
often than not.
Depending on how long she chose to remain in close proximity.
remember she, whispering…
” I am sending you love and light, praying you will not feel alone
within the darkness, you lie struggling within.”
felt more alone, until she.
of love and guidance; as a brightly shining star
never faltering whenever I stumbled and fell when faced with the
daily uncertainties
one faces
when
mired with life’s difficulties, giving me the strength to continue on
knowing, if her light ever grew dim, I would be lost
without her for an eternity.
Within the absence
of your tears
you have
lain
emotionless, expressionless, and I cannot read the words which lie
within your eyes. The sentences and paragraphs
which fall silently upon your
lips. How may i
comfort
you
when your feelings are not known. Therein lies a void
within the universe, an emptiness
cannot be filled.
For you to
have
become as lost as you are, and I, reaching, unable to grasp
a remembrance of your love.
Were thee to weep
I would find
thee.
In between breaths, after she had inhaled and exhaled.
Before awaiting to take another breath,
She thought of those who may
what had left them breathless? If their lives were slowly fading…
She silently wept for them,
excruciatingly painful, the loss of a loved one or a lifelong friend.
Realizing, at any time in her life, she would become
one of them, those dying, wanting nothing
more, but to take another
Decidedly difficult, clearly her present state, if
one was to clarify, by her own definition,
one extremely independent, not
not governed by the rules
About James Sterling
James began writing at 13, and he has published about 12500 pages of poetry on Facebook! He retired from work at the age of 62.
James is proud to share that he never edits what he has written, which is the beauty of his writing!!
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