Wednesday, May 1, 2019

James Lee Jobe writes

Whispers and shadow. 
The cold scurry of ghosts. 
A thousand empty midnights,
A thousand dawns 
That couldn't come soon enough. 
No solace for the losses. 
No balm for the invisible wounds. 
Time is a bitch. 
Moments that move slowly, 
Slowed by the weight of ghosts. 
The weight of whispers and shadow. 
Whispers and shadow.
Related image
Shadow of a Man in Paris with Paper and Briefcase -- Warren Keating

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