April poem

Sometimes it comes so close, in reach;
and then is gone
in cloud of gossamer pain.

I want to deny that which I want,
ignore it, crush;
take back my lost life again.

It cannot stay nor will quite leave,
but circles back,
though hunted heart may evade.

Each time is easier to survive,
until at last
its power will gradually fade.

Made April 2006
by Elisabeth