The Breathing Days

In the days when I still breathed,
the days before 
living took my breath away,
the days before 
I knew my soul was there.
I thought about this time,
this time of no light,
the forever night time
with no breath, no air 
to breathe.
Just dust and darkness.

And I pondered.

Would there be slow decay 
or fast.
Stillness or movement.
Now I know.
I know everything about
the dust and darkness.
But I can't tell you.
Not now
in these days 
of no breath, 
no air
to speak.
Only my soul can speak.
Can you hear me?

First published in Fragments of Chiaroscuro, July 2016


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