When ashen illness came and days all rained,
well, she died. Downpour rushed rimmed flood's fullness
and over. Skies to pieces; thundered, drained;
but, world soon scrubbed vapors, wiped down dullness
with psalm of sunlight, ray-ment so surpliced;
more cloth-clean priest than he who crammed
words as life. Preaching's half-loaves: neat, dry, sliced-
If I find religion, then I'll be damned-
Yet at least nothing can hurt her again.
Sole creed! . A failing timepiece inched my inside
when she left- I'm fingered. My dates remain
and I unlike the dial can't face days applied.
Tick grounds tock. Clock stops- wound down. In a crowd
find alarming silence.Alone chimes loud.
Glenn Bagshaw
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/how-it-feels-2/
