I miss the time
When I had to fall
Only the body felt aching
Not to involve the love of mine
I miss the time
That I only broke my arm
When there's nothing to do
With heart or mind
I miss the time
When I had bunch of candies
Better way of possessing the sweets
Rather than receiving promises
I miss the time
When I lost mine
Teeth would be the ones
Not a number of people's gones
I miss the time
When everything was simple
All the memory was fun
Like my childhood time
I miss the time
Of my old times
Wondering sometime
Again, it comes
(June 2016)
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 10:58 AM UTC
He stays with us in winter storms
And when the garden's bleak
He hops around in sleet and hail
Appearing pale and weak.
But once the days begin to lengthen
And the worst of winter's gone
He perches high up in a tree
And begins his joyful song.
Keith Wilson. Windermere. UK. 2016.
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 10:26 AM UTC
I remember,
there was a time;
the triumph for our kind
when we were still fine:
a heaven-sent rhyme.
I remember,
there was a time;
when our rhyme
was no more
than a yore: heaping
our seams of bore.
I remember,
the heaven-sent rhyme
that was, is now no more;
for neither you nor me
can never leave love be.
May 28, 2016
May 28, 2016 at 4:24 AM UTC
The night was sallow,
shrieking out of our sorrow.
The moon saw us collide:
we were trapped in our pride.
The moon did not consent
when she lulled us to sleep.
While we were fast asleep,
she wept to our vast dissent.
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 8:31 AM UTC
I landed upon your arm,
a pixie rose; misery sung.
I could barely hear the wailing
of the dreams you were veiling.
I dare you not, my dear,
to cast a void in these ears;
hampering my tears
from your forlorn seals.
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 11:23 AM UTC