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Thursday, 24 April 2014

Cruel Time

Emptiness encroaches every minute
My soul enveloped by the lonely hours
Waiting, yearning and praying for the day
death reunites us...hopefully, within the week
Time is punishing me with languid months
Like yesterday...but it's been now a year

Love left too soon; pain lingered long...all year 
I walk in shadows, tortured every minute,
plagued by unrequited love's wretched months
My heart breaks when the clock strikes; chimes the hours
Days rapidly become week upon week
I'm In purgatory... trapped in that one day

Immediately, I knew the first day
Our future I had planned, mapped out the year
Love's rich bounty was ours; we basked that week
I can recall every precious minute,
how we made love for what seemed to be hours
Inseparable, happy... contented months

I fell beyond the realms of sense in months
My heart, it was seized that very first day
Your quick wit; fine physique, filled my many hours
I fear my obliterated heart won't last the year;
dying.more each day...each hour... each minute
Memories taunt me... through my bleak void week 

If only I could rewind that last week;
go back and frequent love's majestic months;
preserve, cherish every wondrous minute;
hold you close in the night... your hand by day 
Create a slide show, a scrap book of our year
Write a novel about those love-drenched hours

I want to stop dead the clock's spiteful hours;
eradicate any new hour... day... week
I wish to travel back to our precious shared year
Erase grief's stark stain; its long, lurid, sour, mournful months
Prevent what happened that odious day
Freeze frame; save you from fate's chosen minute

It took hours to die slowly... to bury two months
A week of despair... in a state of denial for days
A year of tears... stabbed twice within a minute

© Debbie Razey 2014

Poetry: What it means to Me!

Poetry -  it sets me free from the realms of my own mind
Never know what pen will show 'til it taints the hungered paper
Words devour my inward thoughts, spilled out for all to see
Verse or prose, it matters not, the stanzas set me free
My drug of choice, poetry, is my vice; I revel in its bliss
Poetry's passion elicits, in me, my every licentious wish 
The eloquence of vocabulary is music to my ears 
Words resonate; I see my fate unwind in clear calligraphy
Its decadence, without pretence, pieces back my fragmented heart
Through scribing out the pain of years; from despair, enables me to part
Without my muse and all its cues, I think I'd still be lost
So pen in hand and thoughts in ear, I scribble at all cost

© Debbie Razey 2014