Unfinished

Nearly 49 years of unfinished work.

All over the world there are pieces of me, images and words on paper, shadows in a young woman’s memory, a ghost in an old man’s heartache.

Everywhere, but all unfinished.

When I was young,
within a heart,
I carved,
with bloody knuckles,
two initials into a tree,
mine alone,

I never returned to add a love’s.
Unfinished.

Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under outlaw poetry, poetry

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s