I have a friend who’s here, but not. Who’s clear. Who’s near. Who’s dear. But not.
I think of this friend every now and again. His words, his thoughts, his work permeates my world. But not.
I know he is happy. So I do not wish him more, in words. But in my heart, I wish him more than he knows.
We once had an argument over a tea cup. But not.
And the shattered pieces of that tea cup scattered our hearts.
Strewn, though I meagerly attempt to pluck the pieces, they seem hidden beyond my grasp. But not.
4 comments:
The tea cup photo has disappeared at the moment but your words linger. No wonder you wanted to have tea parties recently. I love this poem .... the flow is so nice and reflects your feelings .... leaves me feeling your hurt, your confusion, your acceptance and a lovely sense of beauty and awe and a joy in memories relationships past. Thanks for taking me back to my sister and my brother and sharing a nice cuppa with friends and special people.
I stumbled upon your blog a few months ago. I particularly enjoy this poem. I can't help but wonder if the person who inspired the poem knows of its existence as it doesn't read as fiction.
i wonder too
Thanks Florence. Quite likely not fiction. And quite likely unknown. :) That's what I kind of like about my blog. I feel safe in not many people knowing about it.
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