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Shards of a shattered mirror
sit beneath
my bloody feet.
I can see an eye,
a finger,
a slice of skin
reflected in broken pieces
of a crumbling life.
Voices echo
through the surrounding darkness,
to take another look
at a past turned to dust
and a future made of ghosts.
Each labored breath,
each weary step
reaches out,
grasping for something lost,
something not quite tangible.
Phantom memories
of fingertips
and smiles
and whispered kisses
grip my heart
in a doldrums,
and I am frozen,
at the mercy of words
you cannot say
and lines I can’t help
but pen.

In response to the Weekly Writing Challenge —Poetry


6 thoughts on “Phantoms

  1. Pingback: Viral Spiral | litadoolan

  2. Pingback: This Is Only A Test – A Sestina (Time for Poetry Challenge) | chey being

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