No Way In

He fills the home
with sweetness –
serenades their love –
while she picks away
at every gesture,
imagining subterfuge

His floral words
only serve to poke
doubts – she reads
between the lines
of ornamental landmines

He lights candles
to set a mood,
but she is already
planning a funeral –
her wrung out heart
unwilling to fall.


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Permission to write, paint, and imagine are the gifts I gave myself when chronic illness hit - a fair exchange: being for doing. Relevance is an attitude. Humour essential.

17 thoughts on “No Way In”

  1. The mix of love and grief clutches my throat, one must be part of the other, but yet can it not be? No, but to live in the moment and not the beginning or the ending, just in the love of now while carrying the memory. Such deep love in the midst of pain.

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