Orphan
My mother was a flame and my father a drop of rain now a ghost and I was a gentle open earth dreaming, a soft wind that blew planting the seeds nearly drowned at birth and still I struggle to rise from the smoke, desperate to reclaim them both, building fires in the storm, waiting…
Sorrow’s Poem
Sorrow’s Poem I am the wound that weeps and invisibly bleeds I am the dream that cannot wake and the pain that never sleeps I am the doubting hope of darkness deep I am neither ghost nor living caught between worlds, lost without the words to write me home ©Debbie Berk 2016
Poetry,
I forget sometimes that it’s like poking the dead with a stick and expecting a response surprised at the silence and other times, oh the words, what noisy little ghosts they are Debbie Berk 4/12/2016
