the sad thing is
when I've written this poem
there is a chance
it will become a eulogy:
the passing
of sliding doors
from which
there is no return
only tinted windows
reflecting memories
and My Love
left wandering
somewhere in the gloom
waiting
to be found again
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 8:56 PM UTC
the sad thing is
when I've written this poem
there is a chance
it will become a eulogy:
the passing
of sliding doors
from which
there is no return
only tinted windows
reflecting memories
and My Love
left wandering
somewhere in the gloom
waiting
to be found again
