Metered Poetry

What happens when prayers become shadows?

When words lifted from urgent lips have drifted away as smoke does with the wind?

Maybe our ancestors bury them, maybe they place each one upon a golden shrine.

Or maybe I should just carry them, maybe drink each one with a glass of wine.

What happens when my prayers become shadows? When my words have left me and won’t come back again?

I write poetry, personal narratives and short stories. I'm always open to reaching and connecting with new readers, so leave me a comment or question. Let's start a dialogue! Don't forget to follow me here and on Twitter, Instagram and TikTok! (@exisflor is my handle for all three sites)

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