It was not really meant to be poetry nor prose - perhaps more of an exercise in stream of consciousness.
Strange stuff from the notebook...
Uttered words, soulless, empty - though blackened meadows on a moonless night.
Alone but not forgotten.
Darkness calls with a message from beyond, revealing the passage of time.
Love that binds spirit.
Despair deepens, within dreams, she searches, with a realisation of beckoning freedom.
They are divided not destroyed.
There, amongst the lengthening shadows and parting hills...She takes her last breath.
They are whole....
