WHEN I CONSIDER THE ECHO OF A PULSE – NEW POEM

And another door finds its hinges turning

(you lean, you linger, you lose, you leave)
tides twist and then return, summer finds winter
whistling on the arms of an enigmatic autumn

(leaves fall,

flowers grow, dust settles before the sun)
and I wonder what remains within the rooms
we leave behind, in the corners now cast off
where comfort was once a colour we painted
upon a formerly cold concept of a canvas
found trembling in the tide’s twist, there,
so far from the sea but poised, like the crash

of a wave,

a pulse protruding though seaweed veins,
the remains of an echo within a shell,
like how a home is held within a house,
how we hold on to the dream of being held
again, and then letting go- the leaf that falls
to the ground and the bones re-bedded

beneath the soil.

Seasons turn and we try to keep up, to shake
the sleepless weeks of not being anyone,
of being locked down with the wrong one,
of those sweaty nights soothing solutions
onto sunburnt skin, the cold days coming-
counting what became of the colour
we once painted over all the questions
of how long, how far, how much, how still,

how cold, how many

more stars will each day take from us to light
the night, growing, ever darker, into the day
before we can breathe again, beyond the masks

we now admit to wearing as another door closes
and the echo it leaves behind of emptiness

just under the skin is shattering.

One thought on “WHEN I CONSIDER THE ECHO OF A PULSE – NEW POEM

  1. Brian McManus

    “summer finds winter whistling on the arms of an enigmatic autumn”.

    What a wonderful line in a beautiful poem. You paint such vibrant pictures sir!

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