Witching Hours...

Of nights

moving ever so slowly

with the temerity - unyielding,

relentless - of a persecutor.

clemency overruled;

futility stamped hard;

yet vain expectation, never fails

making a virtue of necessity

endurance at the end of tethers.

Patience yielding,

paving way.

solicitude steps in...

spare me the agony

never,never shall I stray again.

P.S. - courtesy Roget's Thesaurus

letting it go...

What were you worth?

Ah! nothing.

Just a few wet pillows,and wiles

some inconscious, other indulgent smiles.

All those fleeting hours, and late(s)

and some more of excruciating waits.

A festive season's - lone winter interlude'

and some years of endless solitude.

Some have to/wouldbetelling yous

and day's idle thoughts, facial hues.

'My' stray words without a rhyme

a passing wind's unforgettable chime.

Done.

Then she opened her fist.It wasn't tightly clutched but ever so lightly, just covered...she was wary of wrinkling the thing.She looked at it and smiled; wouldn't let wind do it(unh huh!).She took it among her fingers and blew the feather away.

"Is it easy to give away dreams?"

"Yes" said Comfort.

"Yes" said Deligence.

"Yes" said Action.

"Yes" said Convention.

A small almost inaudible "no".

Who did he listen to?

I know not.

He just hoped, hoped against all odds.

Hope being the only thing allowed to him.