Grief

There are moments

when lost in laughter’s memories

the tears come.

A prickling, stinging, stabbing, burning

Rush

and quickly

I turn away.

Blinded

by the sunlight.

Run

into the dampened shadows.

Cringing

tween the black-green, glossy leaves.

a sudden furtive thing.

eyes wide and white-shined

whispering,

“breathe….breathe”

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About shannadodd

I'm a writer and a collector of words. I also tend to collect homeless critters. Currently, in addition to blogs, poems and books, I'm writing my second novel and beginning a graphic design business. When I'm not writing, I'm reading or cleaning or feeding someone. I hope you enjoy my poetry. I try, with my poems, to create pictures with words. I consider it art but not with my chin thrust out or my nose pointing skyward, it's art in the sense that like the painter or photographer I want to capture a moment or event or question. If I do that for you, I've succeeded. Thank you for reading and for your comments. It's means so much to me that folks are reading my poems.
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