Sometimes as the night begins to settle
into yesterday and it's not quite tomorrow
I can feel the absence in my pulse—a heavy pause in breath
the weight confines me—and I become
more free than I have ever been. Those moments utter of simply the insinuation of hours —that never past. And I
let them wind themselves into my hair—find their way through my ears
through my yesterdays —So many moments whispering in so many voices until I am finally lost. It is only then I become me. Inside—that may never be—my voice heard
and then abandoned perhaps. For these moments
I am we.
YOU ARE READING
Of Yesterday
Poetry[Completed] Of Yesterday is a poetry collection written over the last decade, and deals intimately with emotions related to loss, grief, love, recovery and renewal. The pictures used in this chapbook are my own photographs, taken and edited personal...
