summer's end

i am,

not know who i am.

i spent a summer curled up inside you,

foetal,

hiding from the sun and the sky.

taking my breath when you breathed,

taking my pleasure with yours.

september sparked

brilliant lights,

and birdsong covered

the stormy skies.

and i ran out of time.

now,

at the summer's end

end of you...

dragging from my eyes,

from inside.

Reviews

[Ed Hart]

the content of your poetry is sad, but telling; and because of the telling it is not hidden, and therein lies salvation (with a small "s")...