When ashen illness came and days all rained, <br />well, she died. Downpour rushed rimmed flood's fullness <br />and over. Skies to pieces; thundered, drained; <br />but, world soon scrubbed vapors, wiped down dullness <br />with psalm of sunlight, ray-ment so surpliced; <br />more cloth-clean priest than he who crammed <br />words as life. Preaching's half-loaves: neat, dry, sliced- <br />If I find religion, then I'll be damned- <br />Yet at least nothing can hurt her again. <br />Sole creed! . A failing timepiece inched my inside <br />when she left- I'm fingered. My dates remain <br />and I unlike the dial can't face days applied. <br /> Tick grounds tock. Clock stops- wound down. In a crowd <br /> find alarming silence.Alone chimes loud.<br /><br />Glenn Bagshaw<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/how-it-feels-2/
