Poetry Corner: The Passing of Pitch and Toss

The ghosts of the past they don’t talk to me much anymore

Futures lost don’t write me with possibilities that could have been

Today, it forgets me, a candle with no need of wisdom, it soon shall flicker

 

Time moves on, I am an artefact of memory, no longer needed

Friends like time, lost like so many teardrops I’ve forgotten why they fell

Outside the moon and sun, they chatter, nothing new under each to say

 

Quietly I huddle in blankets against the cold north wind of reality

This passing season has been heartless, unkind and cruel, so much grief and loss

Tragedy is simply no more than the passing of pitch and toss.

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