365 Days of Poetry: Day Two-Hundred and Ninety-Three

The mockingbird keens. Remorse, remorse. Things cannot come back. Let go, let go. They will not return from the trash, they cannnot remain in the matter. Repent, repent. It was too far and change is permanent. The end, the end. This is life now, shifting, gathering, drudgery of the flesh. Remorse, remorse. Come back, come back.


About June Faramore

Writer of fantasy, mainstream, and young adult fiction. Poet and sketcher. Mother. I read a lot and love cheese. Guitar playing singer-songwriter. I also enjoy stepping on the cracks in the sidewalk. View all posts by June Faramore

this side, that side

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