twenty eight

These still frames I put on my minds shelf
wondering when the pain will heal itself;
This ink I carry on my arm evermore
not the only mark as you close the door;
This lesson I seem in time to be learning,
of my haste that’s been our undoing,
still aflame burning bright and searing,
throws my reflection to grey brooding;
That peace you brought has remained,
a happiness that lays unchanged,
above the struggle surrendered,
surrounds the heart now sundered.