(c) Michael L. Utley
(#265)
scrub my memories
hang them on the line to dry
before the storm comes
…..
(#266)
summer thunderheads
the past tears a swath across
the plains of my soul
…..
(#267)
post-rain gloaming
ghost-light from an unseen sun
sorrow’s harbinger
…..
(#268)
in this endless night
even eternity flees
from my broken soul
…..
(#269)
sepulchral silence
as the stars spin overhead
in the dead of night
…..
(#270)
when my soul awakes
will I see the dawn of hope
or hope’s dying light