A pot of lavender

Always, never, almost waiting?
A prowl through the lavender, or perhaps, another stage of life, previous. How to turn back time when we cannot?
I left New York. I wonder,
did I leave you too?

No baggage claim fixes what we wait for, 
	yesterday,
			today,
				tomorrow, 
			this evening.
			my cat 
Seems to be ever mute as ever. Yet my other one left as soon as it got dark,
				darkened the world 
								darkened. I don’t know what I am waiting for anymore.
Except I am in a queue like everyone else

Waiting, waiting, waiting, not for another bombshell,
			like the one I gave you that last time.
Waiting, not for my heart, 
			unbroken before 
			they crushed me
							and my pen
						and my voice
					and my innocence.

Waiting, waiting, waiting, for redemption.
No pity, please for my crippled body. I am not a broken person. Just a broken soul, 
	not broken, almost healing,
			waiting for window of sunshine, which will raise one up to a better level.

A pot of lavender awaits me.

Just like you. and my mute cat.

On the doorsteps a crown of something. In the sunshine of early late morning. May 2021, Strasbourg, France. ©le_chah_errant

It seems like the blog is becoming inundated with poetry. Mille excuses for this. Although, the sun’s finally out to stay, the heat is finally coming, and I am slowly working on a few things to get life back on the tracks. A few analysis ideas are flying around. Just have to sit down and clear room on the desk to write them down in depth. 

 

Enjoy !