WolfsongThePoet

what spaces do we have we hold with a grip of death; one moment we have hope and then we lose . ..  it slips through our fingers like sands of time . . . winged and free yet wind whipped we are wounded abraded by the erosion of loss and hurt and yet the passage of time dulls the pain  . . . we brush ourselves off . .   and quickly forget . ..  clutching at hope which like tiny fragile bubbles are so shiny and so compellingly beautiful You grab that tenuous sprite .. .. Love . .. and watch as Love dances away . . . leaving you more lonely than you ever were before