Powder Dry

Come the winter,

Come the ghosts.

Nervous silence in the afternoons.

You don't sleep that well these days -

The shakes and early waking,

The cold stares and the faking.

It's not what it was

And you're not what you were -

The memory's off,

The pictures are blurred.

Mind divided, heart confused,

Timelines fusing as you disappear:

Shadow lives in minor chords

The wounding and the healing,

The slow drips and the peeling.

It's not what it was

And you're not who you were -

The memory's off,

The pictures all blurred.

The gap was too wide,

The window too high.

You followed your pride,

You couldn't keep your powder dry.