What more could happen
Held there like the wings of flies
Between the fingers burned in blood and ink?
Where naught was said
And less was heard
And all those moments
Like seconds stretched to minutes
And stretched to eons
Like the indigo of rainbows

What more was there to say?
When all that should have crossed those lips
Had already been heard in times past
A vague whisper, a hint, of what could have been
No, instead this moment, though spread thin
Still remains dim, elusive
Even upon such a close examination
Blood-stained and ash-covered, waiting

Whispered like a wish
In lands where genies granted guillotines
And stars
Crestfallen pale
Fly with waning smiles
Lips of autumn pressed upon these eyelids seeking slumber
Like the slender hands of yesterday gone slipping
Reminders now recoiling
Recollections rusted in revulsion
Hands of half-written hope
Left leaping from the flames of loss unlit

Those words, still haunting, though never read
Captured ‘tween these cracked and dull fingertips
Examined, found wanting
They were just as elusive as those enchanted lands
A breath, a whisper
A dream behind these silent heartbeats
And still
The golden leaves of yesterday are quietly falling
Gathering slowly around the ankles of time

A. P. Christopher + tara caribou | ©2020

12 Comments on “Acrimony

  1. This is a fabulous reflective collaboration – I love the line ‘In lands where genies granted guillotines’.
    The feeling of this reminded me of a song called ‘Silent Air’, by a band from the ’80’s called The Sound.
    Have a listen if you can track it down.

    Liked by 1 person

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Robert Charboneau.

Writer and Artist

living document

a collection of short poetry from an autistic mind

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