Grief

Lewis Humphries

 

 

He

  missed a

  careworn touch,

and would often

knead the arid loam

at her tendered graveside.

From pursed fingertips, the wisps

of the fragmented land would neatly

gather in the furrows of his palm.

 

But

that was

not enough,

by any reach

of self assertion,

and so he made his bed

beneath the portents of summer.

Where his hands unfurled from restfulness,

and seeped conduits of the tenebrous earth.

 

Until

immersed

in the surfeit,

and prone beneath

a tenebrous landslide,

his colour drained against

the mantle of chestnut brown.

Where the burden of contrition,

tempered to the beats of stifled breath.

 

***

Lewis Humphries is a creative copywriter from the UK. His prose and poetry has featured in numerous publications, including The Flaneur, Twisted Tongue, Blue Hour, The Indiana Voice Journal and many more.