The hour between night and day
has made a promise of returning
to me.
In a bus station, I waited--
for a call
and for a ride to my destination
where clouds kiss my face
with a welcoming cold dew.
My ears only hear his voice,
a laughter I just once heard;
the awaited call!
The trees outside the window
keep on moving, but at the same time
still in their destined places.
The sky was painted blue
and the moon sets as the mark
of the greatest separation.
Today, I will see houses
built in every side of the mountains,
pine trees, strawberries
and his face drawn in my imaginary ocean.
Today, I am leaving
with a promise of returning--
to love.
Jun 13, 2013
Jun 13, 2013 at 12:39 PM UTC
The hour between night and day
has made a promise of returning
to me.
In a bus station, I waited--
for a call
and for a ride to my destination
where clouds kiss my face
with a welcoming cold dew.
My ears only hear his voice,
a laughter I just once heard;
the awaited call!
The trees outside the window
keep on moving, but at the same time
still in their destined places.
The sky was painted blue
and the moon sets as the mark
of the greatest separation.
Today, I will see houses
built in every side of the mountains,
pine trees, strawberries
and his face drawn in my imaginary ocean.
Today, I am leaving
with a promise of returning--
to love.
Creative Writing Class '11
12:00am, Departure Poem
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