Almost
There is a needle buried deep
underground, almost lost in some dark place
rusted, forgotten, it hardly disturbs the sleep
and in the eyes and in the heart almost no trace
There is a nail attached to wood
that built a house, a fence with posts
long buried it rots among some roots
the hand that forged it now a ghost’s
There is a memory of a child
who splashed through streams and rolled down hills
games and pranks that once ran wild
so uncaring then of slips or spills
Thoughts of nails and needles lost in rain
and in their place – pain, pain, pain
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© Johnmichael Simon
2017
.