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| River at dusk, echoes of grief, and loss |
Swallows still flew carefree
in the August sky — ironic!
Our summer had ended in July.
At
the
twilight of the day, we meet
in the silent garden of the obscured.
At times, old insecurities come to the fore, hand in hand with wistful memories of past lovers, loss, death and grief. At other times, I have bitter quarrels with God late into the night about sin, redemption and child-death; and when solace will not come, in despair, I run for shelter to life's true confessional—poetry.
The Golden Gate of old Jerusalem
Rachel screams.
A ripping pain mauls
her body but the cruel
abuser has no pity.
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| A Young Woman Swimming |