The Phone Call

Falling Leaves, Uncategorized 1 Minute

The Phone Call

(the hanna Tree Feb 2018)

Between the lines

there’s a space that feels like

sadness and thunder claps

flaring white and slow and cold

where laughter swallowed

up by depleting distance

is a storm of smiling mouth sounds

that doesn’t brighten the room

magnificently

Hear it!

Fading

You cant see it

there among coruscating, giggling shadows

darting between

wall board words

and

expectation

as disappointing as untimely death

lying beneath eternity and the dying flowers

And love’s expression

frozen on fear

in that vastness that holds

all the stars together

in between the lines

where my silence ululates

is too big to bridge

you excusing dissolution

I love you

I’ve been busy

Wtf

Published by the hanna Tree

I write. I live among blossoming wattles and ancient granite monoliths. Here the trees straggle and claw among the dry mulches and sand, shaping the context from which i scrabble at answers to life's questions in the detritus of my personal history. I seek solace from solitude, contentment from kindness, happiness from the wealth of experiences, errors, emotions and pragmatism that hold my soul in a suspension of life. I write poetry, I sing a story of self in words tapped out on an old laptop and I aspire to the equilibrium of a life well lived. Dont we all. You dont need to know who I am, but I need to know who I am. Ah yes, you the reader might understand that some of my perspectives hit a chord that harmonises with your own experience of life. I hope so.

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