Tuesday, August 20, 2013

The Seventh Morning by Bobbi Sinha-Morey

Image - http://mockeryoflove.wordpress.com
On the seventh morning
when I woke I found your
letter on my pillow and
when I read it, my heart
within me was like a stone.
You had taken back the
promissory ring and now,
in spite of the ambient
light, I felt numb, dimmed
with grief, that you had
left me to dwell alone.
My life is like a broken
bowl that cannot hold
a drop of water for my
soul, nor is there a cordiality
to lift me when I'm low.
All I ever see is the barren
dusk, no bud or greenness;
and without you, I am a
frozen thing, a falling leaf.

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