poem

I close my eyes and think of these –
the sunset, Sound, the crowd, the breeze;
your words, your voice, and then your stare
all echo in my memories.
I can’t return to find you there.

I look out, grasping, and I find
no part of you that’s left behind –
(it’s empty, broken, cold and bare
where you were quick and warm and kind)
I can’t return to find you there.

I write a hundred times a day
a thousand words I’d like to say –
all stifled, silent, thick with fear.
And so I sit, and wait, and pray
you might return to find me here.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s