The Final Kiss

Its only echoes now
hollow greeting, calling from nowhere
Fluff flying in the teasing breeze.
The sound of near silence about me

Walking, through the wilderness of waste,
the rubble of a stretched soul,
broken on the pages of a book
bound in tears, your years all gone.

Voices, rejoice and lament,
the slow torment of living
in the near now and the near gone,
the chapel of tears
and the altar of forlorn.

Step away,
take the past back to where it belongs,
no righting of wrongs,
no words from dead lips,
no retrospective embrace,
no holy grace.
The final kiss on a cold dead face.

© Dave Kavanagh @

Leave a Reply

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

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

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ 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 )

Connecting to %s