The Smiths, returned; Absence, revisited

they say there is a light
                that never goes out
a light that, even amongst crowds–
ever buoyant, ever flooding–
a                 keeps shining our steps on

there is a light
a        that we eat,
we put on a stove, leave to a
  a      slow burn
there is a light, that goes
  a       unquestioned, unanswered,
a light in seemingly
    a      empty cemeteries
a   severely quiet,
   a                            a light
a      that remains, that rises
to an illusionary boil:

a            of  melancholy and saudade,
through thoughts
    a           of the now gone– a light
that we season with words–
a       a phantom of love, we
a  live among the dearly
a                                       departed

Idea by: dan cz. 



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