Ephemera

Lovers,_1928

 

Joy, ephemeral as a blackbird’s song,

As his fragile feathered life,

Carried on balmy breezes,

Disperses with the merest sigh,

In a cloud of mist and thistledown.

But pain uncurls in every broken heart,

Opens heavy arms to embrace the dark,

Beats a swathe, red raw between the dancing trees,

To tear a path beyond the round of sleep,

And clawing through the cold and airless wastes,

Fills the space that lies between the stars,

Swelling into infinity.

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

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