Just a while more
Till I'm gone.
The final glance,
You'll mistake it for any other;
And I'll walk away, for I must.
Perhaps you'll wonder.
Perhaps you won't...
Your name will resound in my heart
And course through my veins;
With every heartbeat taking you further away...
I see your eyes: dark and beautiful
Like the northern lights,
I see your smile, your eyes shine...
You're a little airhead, ain't you?
But that's alright...
I feel your hand in mine: cold, smooth, like those glass pebbles by the sea;
Salt in the wind, wind in my hair.
I feel your lips: rough and warm
And only in my wildest dreams...
Now I stand, looking one last time,
Engraving you in my soul.
She begs from within, I hold a dagger at her chin;
Tears pour out on my pretend-smile,
And I stand alone, barefoot
My blood stains the snow,
My first red rose at my thorn-pricked fingertips...
Should I let go?
The seconds tick reflecting moonbeams...
~Wordsmith
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 2:58 PM UTC
Just a while more
Till I'm gone.
The final glance,
You'll mistake it for any other;
And I'll walk away, for I must.
Perhaps you'll wonder.
Perhaps you won't...
Your name will resound in my heart
And course through my veins;
With every heartbeat taking you further away...
I see your eyes: dark and beautiful
Like the northern lights,
I see your smile, your eyes shine...
You're a little airhead, ain't you?
But that's alright...
I feel your hand in mine: cold, smooth, like those glass pebbles by the sea;
Salt in the wind, wind in my hair.
I feel your lips: rough and warm
And only in my wildest dreams...
Now I stand, looking one last time,
Engraving you in my soul.
She begs from within, I hold a dagger at her chin;
Tears pour out on my pretend-smile,
And I stand alone, barefoot
My blood stains the snow,
My first red rose at my thorn-pricked fingertips...
Should I let go?
The seconds tick reflecting moonbeams...
~Wordsmith
Request permission to use this poem