When I was younger
I stood there waiting.
I stood there,
Waiting for someone who would not come,


Back,


Against the cold damp wall I stood,
As an unwanted postage stamp,


Forgotten,


Waiting to be remembered.
I watched,
As I stood there.

tonight i can't write poetry,
a star is just a star.

february and the roses have
finally stopped flowering

above stormy clouds
the moon scatters like a ghost

i dream of you, of you...

and the night glides peacefully
to rest while i sigh and wait.

this memory
this ghost for hire
for which i pay dearly
is worth as much, or more

these blue night skies
and black sky days
deserve as much, or more

rainy eyes my mind clouds make
sunny eyes my mind clouds fake

take, take, take
that is all she does
it is all she knows

this ghost
this memory
this love

©Jason Cole