there | Dissident Voice

Underneath,
around the side,
out of view, normally.
I see it,
sense it…
the warmth is dizzying,
the light blinding.
It’s hard
to put your finger
upon it.
The walls,
moods
and everyday noises
hide
its… perfectness.
But when
the obscuring breaks,
temporarily,
and the hurt
forgets itself
for a moment.
There is a MOUNTAIN
sized part of your soul
which I wonder at
and fall
desperately in love with
over and over, again.

Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories, sketches and photography
published in many publications around the world. He yearns to tattoo porcelain bridesmaids
instead of digging empty graves for innocence at midnight; this too may pass, yet.
Buy his books Scribblings Of A Madman (Lit Fest Press); Poetry From The Nearest Barstool; and a split poetry book The Raven And The Vagabond Heart with Bethany W Pope. You can also read his poems and stories here!

Read other articles by Paul, or visit Paul’s website.

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