Over Shortly Before It
Donít tell me, I already know -
Iíd rather hoped it didnít show.
I didnít want it to be so:
I didnít want it to be no.
When too much is not enough
dark blinds shutter out the truth:
becomes tomorrowís rust.
I wake once more to find
my own self-myth, adrift -
lost all at sea, again
on a raft of misplaced trust.
Terms and Conditions
Grief is a thief
Who with a heart-punch steals your breath;
There is no lend or borrow
When it comes to dealing sorrow -
Love is uninsurable
For reconciling death.
If you have any thoughts on these poems, Eve
Best would be pleased to hear them.