…of reflection

From this dark place, I still see the sun
I still feel the changing seasons
and the stars and the moon watch over me
but there is no connection, no touch of a gentle hand
I am now but a memory, perhaps a lonely ghost
unseen and wandering, visiting you in dreams
you are no longer mine, I am no longer yours
in fields of endless night I wander alone
my fingers brushing against the tall grass
the wind whispers secrets that I cannot bear to hear
will I ever find peace?
once more I find myself at the river
and I sit and watch it flow by
I close my eyes and let myself drift away
to another place, another time
when things were simple and love less complicated
to the time pre-devastation
before my heart became seasoned in the ways of obfuscation
and as the mistress of evasion
I was clinging to graven images
crafted from wishes and expectations
when I finally open my eyes
I see the beauty around me in every blade of grass
in the soft songs of river, the warm caress of the sun
and solitude is speaking to me
the gentle art of reflection
©Ann Bagnall