…of memory

My heart is a sacred grove, a window to the past
where all that is hidden. if sought, might come to light
the sky hangs heavy with the weight of rain
just as I also labour, to hold the pain that lives inside of me
in the cobwebbed corners of my memory
every thought is my own to choose
dark secrets played out, flashing in and out of view
an ever shifting landscape of my moods
a night time garden formed of dreams
an unbroken listening that fills the wonder of a moment
soon swallowed by the retreating midnight hours
the day dawns, flowing softly in on a curtain of mist
flooding my view with crimson drops of tears
© Ann Bagnall