The words you said,
like kisses in the cold
overlooking the vistas of all
you'd never done; all that you
hoped and meant to do --
These were my inheritance,
my keepsakes, my treasures
to return to as a mountaintop
experienced within misunderstood
autumn before knowing
How all that besets us and
bedevils us can turn into
that which soothes and comforts
us once we realize
that perspective sharpens
as eyes dim
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Tagged: Tags Poetry
Published by Beleaguered Servant
Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.
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