The Tree On The Hill

The tree on the hill,
It’s waiting there still,
Where we kissed
‘neath the moon
In the spring.

The tree on the hill,
With the leaves looking ill,
Still remains
Like the pain
Felt within.

The tree on the hill,
Dark shadows fulfilled,
Will forever
Be painted
As sin.

The tree on the hill,
That tortures me still,
Digs deep
Beneath soul
And the skin.

The tree on the hill,
With enough strength and will,
Could be cut
And the healing
Begin.

But…

The tree on the hill,
Where it stands strong and still,
Will endure
Like the pain
Felt within.

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Memory

Come,
walk with me,
these dark and dusty halls
of memory.

Breathe,
remembered scent,
of perfume lightly misting
treasured skin.

Tones,
familiar music,
we danced in spinning circles
round the room.

Clear,
laughter ringing,
shattering the silence of
misery’s hold.

Peace,
arresting quiet,
the sound of passing breath
in gentle slumber.

Lost,
forever wandering,
through dark and dusty halls
of memory.