Posted in Nove Otto

Lost

Lost

A fragile thing I used to hold
began as something fresh and bold
then slipped away on shifting sand.

Perhaps my fingers, holding tight,
released their grip, so it took flight
to places it believed more grand.

An impasse I could never breach
has moved forever from my reach
the heart I once held in my hand.

© Susan Schoeffield

My take on the prompt at Poetic Asides to write a “handheld” poem.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s