…of the unseen hands of time

My unwritten lines my unspoken words
are buried deeper and deeper
with each sweep of the unseen hands of time
around the sad face of the slow ticking clock
like vanquished warriors on the bloody fields of loss
they lie cold and silent as the grave
whilst I cannot rest and I cannot sleep
as I must find the words for which I seek
the cold winds sing me a slow threnody
a sad lament rising as the darkness falls
and in my heart I feel a stab of irony
that the weightless wind in its formlessness
in its translucent transient existence
beyond form or structure, a voiceless vessel of destruction
now orates my pain and my melancholy
in unspoken words exquisitely drafted
they whistle through the tombstones
and the unfilled graves of my craft
that lie unattended in the corners of my mind
where I struggle to find the threads of my rhymes
endlessly searching for the words I suppressed
and the feelings that burned deep in my soul
languishing in limbo alone and unexpressed
where my voice once silent and long repressed
is calling out of the darkness that swirls around me
whispering words that ebb and flow
with a trace of sadness and a gentle familiarity
brushing softly against my skin, a touch that I know
igniting a spark, a small light in the dark, just out of my reach
with my outstretched hands I feel for the words
that I suddenly see floating inside the mirror of me
my fingers dissolve in the shimmering glass
and I watch myself ripple and break apart
in the shifting shadows of the distant past
I am falling out of myself into a faraway place
where I find I am lighter and feel my heart drifting
upon an ocean of words in a wide open space
where the waves are gentle and my rhymes soar with the birds
and all of the colours are starting to glow
as my voice is returning and my precious words flow
© Ann Bagnall