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Remembering You

Remembering You

A ghostly flower blooming and withering,
(or blot) blinking with colors that strain to brightness,
to equal those of what were seen before;
fragments, with the music or plain utterances
attempting to be as loud (or as soft)
as what they really were...

But all in vain.

Blurred and ephemeral. Just for a haunting and fleeting...
Many times an unexpected visitor,
an intruder, inside...

What is complete and constant is that depressing spirit:

Void of form and details, yet lingering, encumbering,
dragging. Punctuated, highlighted,
by the thief that intermittently
gives, curses, and leaves

with a piece.

Grains of Sand

Grains of Sand


There is no sand left in the hourglass

It has fallen and shattered

into a million pieces

just like so many lives

All the seconds of the day

are now scattered among

the grains on the floor

Impossible to pick up

They represent the fragments of the past

Swept into piles of lost hope

and blown away by a deep sigh of regret

Dispersed forever among the ages

Ann Christine Tabaka

Ann Christine Tabaka was born and lives in Delaware.  She is a published poet, an artist, a chemist, and a personal trainer.  She loves gardening, cooking, and the ocean.  Chris lives with her husband and two cats.  Her poems have been published in numerous national and international poetry journals, reviews, and anthologies.


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