There is even less room
here since you left,
walls encroach, creaking
in their eagerness
to fill a space once
radiated with your charm.
I hear their whispers;
they say the real poet
is no more, this ersatz
kibbutz has no real
defences left. We’ve
failed you where you
left us with a dream
we can’t sustain – the
crush is killing us with
aching emptiness.
Life will never be the same...
© 26 May 2007, I.D. Carswell
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