These clothes are not my own;
sewn to bone, button-holed to skin,
neatly pressed, hemmed in,
diaphanous, worn thin.
A promise-woven pelt,
yet you have felt what I tried to hide;
the frayed, grey remnants
that I have stitched inside.
Filed under Poetry
Tagged as healing, understanding
How lovely! Only someone with a true heart can see through what is so well hidden 🙂
indeed beautiful poetry, I wish you would share your work more, such loveliness! 🙂
What a rich image, the “promise-woven pelt” one wears from the inside of the heart that gets so worn and threadbare after repeated disappointments. I wonder, can such a garment renew when hope springs afresh.? So neat and tidy in rhyme and rhythm, flawlessly sewn ….
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