Deep in my soul
there is an ache
a quiet, ancient thing
woven into the shadows
waiting for the hour
when the moon turns her face
towards forgotten things
it rises slowly, almost stealthy
a wild tide, called forth
that I do not dare to name
it knows my hollow spaces
the dark lonely places
where my ghosts linger
the loss, that leaves no scars
the face, that I still see
in the corners of dreams
and where in their wake
comes a longing, a yearning
with no resolution
suspended in the amber
grief rearranges itself
it is the echo of every truth
the ghost of every ending
the shadow of lost a soul
and it still calls my name
© Ann Bagnall
Annie's Poetry 