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Image for the poem                               traces    

                             traces    

                                poems of innocence              
                        Broken loaves, abundant giving;              
                    Broken lives, abundant living.—CAB              
              
                                                  6.                         
                                              traces              
        “Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until              
                          the hour of separation.”― Kahlil Gibran              
               
where once you sat              
     an empty chair              
          devoid of human presence              
               i had forgat              
                    how often there              
                         you'd populate my silence              
               
     with mellow flute              
          songs,  arias cute,              
               and cello melodising              
                    the atmosphere              
                         therewith to bear              
                              love's subtle compromising              
               
          where once i sipp'd              
               how now tight-lipped              
                    the wine that i have tasted!              
                         left with this thirst              
                              my soul accursed              
                                   my expectations wasted              
               
               traces of you              
                    my post-adieu              
                         has hung high on the conscience              
                              where in my bed              
                                   your ink once bled              
                                        fresh hymns from faith's confidence              
               
                    rest with the brave:              
                         no cold, dark, grave              
                              can mock make of your dowry              
                                   soon shall you rise              
                                        when morning skies              
                                             retell the old love story              
               
                              © Copyright 2022 January 27              
                                   by Clyve A. Bowen♫
cabcool
Written by cabcool
Published | Edited 19th Jul 2022
Author's Note
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