The distance
Between the light
The gray, dull night.
Alone.
Waiting
For waves of time
To stop, to stall
For me.
A small
Rustle by the trees
Brings hopes of you
Coming.
Above,
The clouds, the sky,
Look down; A glance
Of love.
Softly
The breeze will blow
Away the pain
Of yearning.
The fire
That burns a soul
Is all the warmth
I get.
2 comments:
Yearning love is the mystic of poetry, you exhale in a lovely breath the slow completion of the bitter-sweet intermission between encounters!
Beautiful.
Thanks for your kind words..
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