a poem by Rani Turton, France

The sun sets as the globe turns; I am alone, and you

Maybe not; Who knows why some destinies turn out this way?

I flirted with metaphysics; I asked for answers but

The questions turned themselves away.

Bleed, heart, bleed. It might help to dull the loss.

It might soften the anguish and the pain;

The human condition is fragile, strong and strange by turns

Though with every sunrise the light returns.

Bleed heart bleed; the power of this pain

Will then lessen, and with a golden needle I can then,

Stitch the broken fragments, wash them in the rain

And finally enable this broken heart to become whole again.

Copyright: Rani Turton

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