A volley of words,
A spur of grimaces,
A wisecrack or two,
A stream of unshed tears.
They were her reluctant weapons,
Inclined to pierce them both.
Every other day and every other night.
No bloodshed. No mortal wounds.
Yet her life drained out.
Nursing a self-inflicted bruise,
She tried to hold on…
But he kept slipping away
Like grains of golden sand.
Like leaves in autumn winds.
It was time
To battle for trust,
To fight and not let go,
To place her faith back in him,
To put a stopper to misunderstandings,
To believe in his love than her nightmares.
No more looking back.
No more burned bridges.
No more drudging up the past.
Only to lose herself in his nook
For a glimmer of hope.
For a chance of future.
For a dream of home.
Looking back and bringing up the past often blinds the way to the future. I have no idea how this poem happened when I saw the prompt “back”! First and possibly last poem Stream of Consciousness style.
Written for this week’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt – “back”. Come and join the fun 🙂