It placidly withers
like little Dahlias
settled on top of the cold marble
on the second week of November.
Leisurely fading
on the back of my brain
bestowing spaces
for new memories.
Until it becomes a blur
tiny dapples
freckles of different sunlight
augmented on different days
months
years.
Until almost immemorial.
Almost.
But then, he also withers
and so do I
and so does what we have.
Until one day,
it was nothing
but ashes
of the old fire.
Oct 27, 2016
Oct 27, 2016 at 10:40 PM UTC
It placidly withers
like little Dahlias
settled on top of the cold marble
on the second week of November.
Leisurely fading
on the back of my brain
bestowing spaces
for new memories.
Until it becomes a blur
tiny dapples
freckles of different sunlight
augmented on different days
months
years.
Until almost immemorial.
Almost.
But then, he also withers
and so do I
and so does what we have.
Until one day,
it was nothing
but ashes
of the old fire.
Request permission to use this poem