Gone from the table, leaving no reply.
Gone from my lap, slipping down, turning, running.
Gone. Wisps of farewell.
Gone to the sound of laughter in the garden.
Gone with clatter of running in the hall.
Gone to the scraps of re-conversation.
Gone, I follow senses, thoughts, more.
Gone, I sit.
Linked to TheHighCalling.org with
4 comments:
Gone, yet still lingering. There are a myriad of meanings you can take from this...
"Gone from the table, leaving no reply"
That was a strong one. I can feel it.
Beautiful poem, Kath. I feel the strong sense of being bereft--so effective.
Kath, Thank you for leaving a comment over at my poem / post.
Your poem got me too. It felt like an unraveling of a tapestry. Very sad also.
Stephie
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