Poetic Mental Healing | Too Late, Too Late / Morning Bells | A Poem

Boy hands. Death touched them.

Nobody is sitting there

On the edge.

Sending wasps.


Reverberations and voices.

Faces onto faces.

The scent on a busy street.

Mouths open.

Voices without words.

I see you everywhere.

As I walk

And stand still.

Running in circles.

Lights chase me.

I’m engulfed in my own lines.

Choose one colour after another.

Trying to find you

And peace

After having lost you,

Yes, I did lose you

So much,

So, so much my brain needs to remind me almost every single day,

You’re stuck in one year

And onward,

I drag you across the floor,

Put you on my pedestal

To shine forward

My hands on your chest,

Live on and on

As I wake up and face the sun.

Photo by Clara Ngo on Pexels.com

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