I wonder if we listen carefully enough
will we hear the distant whir of machinery.
A computerised filing cabinet,
blossoming leaves stained with the ink
of fallen tears.
A matrix of every decision I have made,
every heart break shared in solitude upon that bench.
What pain, fear, self esteem and lack of belief have
those frozen petals collected over the years.
And yet I never came back and told you.
I never told you that I passed those exams
you watched me study for, I never told you
I failed my history A level, I never told you
I failed my Maths…again.
I never came back to say I had sorted it out,
it was fixed, things were better,
I was hurting less. I wonder if these
fallen leaves are the half tales I recall.
If for a moment the thin veil
between worlds were to separate,
would I find here drawn against the
crumbling walls of this ancient castle,
the blueprint of my resistance
paths walked, destinies lost,
And who guards my precious data?
For I feel the ancient call tug upon my
soul as I wander close by, a core need
whispering on winters breeze carried
upon frozen dust particles,
calling me home.
But who is it that calls unto my soul?
Karen Hayward ©2016
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