My
son,
were I
to measure
the depth of my love
by the dread Gehenna of loss
each time the wind blows your image across my tired eyes,
the ocean could not contain it.
A great tsunami
would rise up;
The world
would
sink
-<>-
So
please.
my child.
let this be
the last lager can
I uncover while I’m cleaning.
The last drunken can that ever you concealed from me.
I don’t require such reminders
of our broken ties;
reminders
that I
lost
you
-<>-
A fibonacci poem…
©Jane Paterson Basil
Jane's Clean Slate 
I know only that he has to run his course, and you yours. And if that means on separate tracks, so be it. Sometimes the best that can be had, is that we live through it.. 🙂 if you can.
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I think I can. I have to. Can’t take any more abuse, and you and me both know how it is; only he can save himself.
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♥️
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Such pathos in this, Jane. I have never heard of fibonacci poetry – it is visual impact is perfect for this piece
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Thank you Raili. I haven’t used this form for ages. I thought it was time to venture out of my free verse comfort zone.
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Glad you did
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