Wednesday, 7 August 2013


The mute appeal of her cry
Would never reach his ear
Would he perhaps, yet, open that eye?
He may, perchance, happen upon
His own tragedy, in her cry.

She stood that distance away
Measuring the miles of silence
That grew each day;
Wishing with all her heart
They could traverse its
Deceitful, beckoning charm.
Silence, that evoked
A hundred different tunes
Of losing, of hoping,
Of being bewitched
So true, that she almost gasped. 

Did he hear that?
Was he listening?
She hoped, she so hoped
With all her heart
He wasn't. 

That silence was her sentinel.

Nothing, ever, should lay
Open, her vulnerable heart. 

Her eyes drew back their touch.
And her voice no longer
Coloured the trails, the wisps
Of their togetherness. 

She walked, alone, proud. 

She became her silence.
She became that sentinel. 

7 August, 2013

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