Forgive Your History

on Jun 01 in Poems by

From beneath the mist

I see a yellow candle

by the bed flicker.


A voice whispers

forget about accounting

for what is and just be.


Everything I wished for once

disappeared in the night

like a giant freighter

down a river of longing

toward the horizon.


All that remains is the story

of a thousand departures.

Each one leaves its residue

on the inside of my skin.

One Comment

  • Kathy says:


    This is quite lovely. A thousand departures, the story, history. A good way to measure and a hint for how to let the accounting go.