Piker Press — Weekly Journal of Arts and Literature
April 27, 2026

Life in Exile

"...I harvest her memory every night in dreams..."

Life in Exile

So alone, dark has returned,
the trees are bare, rain is falling.

This guilty conscience, I harvest
her memory every night in dreams.

Life in exile, blues plays the sunrise,
I play the reclusive music notes, swirling.

No one shall notice if the world should
stop, no one will notice if I slip away.






More by Wayne Russell → More poetry → Full issue →
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