soulful concoction

an ounce of sadness,twenty warm tears
rolling off red cheeks, dripping into a 
splash of blended grief, heartache jarred,
seasoned over time, a teaspoon will do,
not a drop more, roomy enough so
to add a lonely sigh, a fiery spice,
and pour, slowly, upon glacially
chilled blocks of life’s artic ways, 
abandoned as they crack open,
cold to hot, like a hug after winter’s 
storm, yet no one’s around, to hold, to
warm sluggish blood, the work is
unfinished, move, step forward,
include sprinkles of passion,
purposeful reason, I will, I will,
toss in a shrig of desire, to float 
above all that aches, a chasm,
then stir, gently with care, shake not, 
avoiding slight releases of nauseating
aromas, be gentle, finishing off
with garnishments of hope, drink,
that I will be remembered, embraced,
and renewed, that love’s arms will 
find me, before the glass runs dry.

                                             Jaymes Ian Woode


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