"rejoined" poems
On the twenty third of June, anniversary of my father’s death,
The United Kingdom voted to LEAVE the European Union.
It was a close-run thing:
Fifty two percent to forty eight,
Though over a million votes between.
A result that will go down in the annals of history.
Another vote the pollsters and bookmakers got wrong.
I voted Leave, confidently expecting to Lose!!!
My friends were split in two
As Remainers became ReMOANers!
For I’m now branded a nationalist, bigoted racist
Who has made a massive mistake.
But I insist: Britain has Rejoined the World
And Our Commonwealth.
We are reborn
So sure there will be teething troubles.
We’ll have to learn to walk and talk again.
Cast off your gloom, Remainers!
Rejoice the brand new day.
Britain can be great again
As the dawn chorus resonates around the globe.
Opportunity smiles down on us.
It won’t be easy,
But when ever was it so???
The Phoenix rises,
Unfurling its golden wings…
Paul Butters
© PB 27\6\2016.
Jun 27, 2016
Jun 27, 2016 at 6:10 AM UTC
Let me continue the story about a guy named Akshant,
Who belonged to Mathura in India, once the city of Krishna.
Akshant rejoined college and scored acceptably well this time,
He had realized his mistakes while he was to stay at home.
Repentance on committing mistakes intentionally was ripe,
He barely controlled the regret from flowing through his eyes.
Anamika was the only friend who was by his side in this time,
Giving him relief from loneliness which rang as the door chime.
Akshant had a poor memory so not much could stay on his mind,
Stressing his memory too much would only make his brain to grind.
Akshant then studied cautiously holding onto Anamika's hand,
Cautious he was not to crush it as he had formerly done to others.
He brightened up his professional life along with the romantic life,
And he scored brilliantly given his mental health was really affected.
The dried clots inside his brain were still an issue two years later,
But he controlled himself to not harm others from his anger.
The clots used to come out through as tears and ear wax,
Almost all was physically well after three more years.
Akshant went Kodaikanal after his bachelor's degree college,
He was an eligible bachelor when he had a job confirmation.
This happened when he was drifting away in the Kodai lake,
Anamika who sat next to him in the boat congratulated him.
Now Anamika confessed her feelings for Akshant in the boat,
Akshant couldn't find any words & found himself quite quiet.
This made Anamika challenge and taunt about his manliness,
Which caused Akshant get enraged & kiss his reply on her lips.
The boat swayed terribly in the star-shaped lake's still waters,
Anamika ogled & felt her hair get wet & this made her ****** Akshant.
She started kissing him back now & her eyes were coming back to normal,
These had been wide ogling when Akshant had started kissing hard and so it was.
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 2:23 AM UTC
In Battalion,
Misery is served in a thousand ways.
Misery is served in buckets of rain
and hours of wind.
Unyielding, soul-sucking cold and wet.
Porous jungle boots that invite the frigid water in and soften your feet for a relentless 30 mile march.
Misery is served in a stifling aircraft flying Nap of the Earth.
A nauseating rollercoaster ride that never fails to elicit
chain reaction vomiting from the paratroopers rigged to jump.
Misery is served at pool PT
When your arms and legs feel like lead
and drowning is a better alternative
than the aquatic torture that you’re enduring.
Misery is served during blistering Company runs
led by the Commander
who was a college decathlete.
Runs where the strongest of us
pulled aside, emptied our stomachs,
and rejoined the formation.
Misery is served by no warning alerts
separating families and lovers
for indefinite periods,
sometimes forever.
Misery is served by the Spec 4 Mafia
Unleashing Hell on new Rangers
testing their threshold for ****
Misery is served by road marches, prickly heat,
Black Palm, and sawgrass. It’s served by desert heat,
Arctic cold, and the stench of the world’s worst places.
Misery is served by the loss of brothers in war and training,
gone too soon to join the Great Ranger in the Sky.
Through it all, misery hardened my body and strengthened my soul.
It made me a warrior and ushered me into a Brotherhood that will be with me until we all sit at the great table in Valhalla.
So on this Veteran’s Day
Embrace the ****
Endure the pain
Invite the Misery
For that’s what makes us
Men amongst Men
Rangers Lead The Way.
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 10:34 AM UTC
*Your spirit now rests in harmony,
Since you were called with the angels above,
But your smile will live forever,
And it's only you, I think of.
With wonderful memories,
When you reached out from the bottom of your heart,
To see everyone together,
A dream you left behind, and sadly unable to start.
But I believe in eternal life,
And some day we will meet again,
To celebrate and rejoice,
And it will never have to end.
Rejoined in a new world known as paradise,
An idyllic place to be ... without any worries or pain,
Bringing happiness and togetherness once again,
In His presence and reign.*
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 2:44 PM UTC
There was an eerie quiet peacefulness
in the small sparsely furnished room.
The only sound that may have been heard
was of a solitary man wearing a brown robe
with the hood pushed carefully back in order
that his head would bared before God. He was
breathing in and out in a steady and relaxed way
as he occasionally and deliberately turned a page.
The man, perhaps in his sixties, one couldn’t tell
but for the age-worn hands that rested gently on a tome
before him. He was deep in thought and concentration
as he studied his Bible, something he did daily.
These were his moments of quiet contemplation,
but ones that he never shared, but with his God,
and upon finishing, he quickly rose and rejoined his Brothers.
He felt at Peace.
©Joe Wilson – In quiet contemplation 2014
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 2:37 AM UTC
“I’ll see you later.” My Father said as they wheeled him off on the gurney.
“Good Luck, Pops.” my heart in my throat, as he went on his last journey.
He left us in that hot July, when the heat waves’ course had run.
I wandered in shock and disbelief like a world without a Sun.
For a long time after Pops had passed I struggled with depression.
Life went on for others; at least that was my impression.
Yet even in my darkest night I had my memories.
Sometimes, in the deepest sleep, Pops would return to me.
In his deep rich Irish Brogue he’d speak from beyond the vale.
My Memories of unconditional Love can never fade or pale.
To have been loved as we two loved; there is but one Love greater.
As I woke and rejoined the work-day world I whispered “I’ll see You Later.”
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 8:43 AM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, this is my revival:p
this time I fluctuate
I breathe annihilation
what got rid of me I got rid of liberation
the hurt carried on the pearl as seen before
makes me moon the past a perfect doom not ignore
more I find reckless but in good tenders
bile arisen comes to a chocolate cake remembers
something for me for once and all
the apart rejoined from the great unregretted fall
said suffer time on the twentieth last of year
a June not ought for my happiness not dear
not a remnant
since then but not worth the resentment
other than a rapid eye above buried graves
let be dreaded for my save
mentioned a one to hurt one to dream
a revival knows the uniqueness that beams
now one to petty one to go
one to memory one to soon
my compass is to be found in dune
-----ravenfeels
Jun 1, 2021
Jun 1, 2021 at 5:22 PM UTC
A seedling tiny of good remembered still
transformed uniform in vastness wavering
roots small of succor turn trunks huge sprouting
back from joys earthy,seeking skies many above
rejoined both, re rooted in mother earth eagerly,
hands and feet merged indistinguishably stoic
in an existence pure, to one being impervious.
a sapling soft now time twisted,gnarled,knotted
to an entity unique, massive of heart fused in soul
then just a being existing simply as one ordained so
by time!
sweet birds in me sing
on me your kids swing
around me in a ring
the gods now impinge
to them maidens cling
for a nice manly thing
under my cool wing
do elders advices bring
I amidst stand like a king
impassive to everything!
A thought in my mind as I see the ancient tree in my village."Hemmara" in my native language of Karnataka, a state in India, means literally an ancient and massive tree.Normally and in some mysterious way this invariably will be a Banyan tree in the village center which has its roots growing out of the earth and joining the branches and branches stooping down and joining the earth to become roots! Around the tree over time idols of innumerable Gods spring up,Elders convene and advise the folk,kids play and village belles flock to pray for a good husband!!
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 5:40 PM UTC
their clocks tick. sure, his
is off-beat much like his life
and hers ticks along
sluggishly. o how
a heart can stumble into
another in the
most inopportune
manner! this doesn’t make sense,
she whispered that first
night, and he could do
no more than agree. this is
pointless, he rejoined,
and instead of that
expected sombre moment
they both just snorted.
death’s conventional
and the night is young, though their
days are old and mourn
for the loss of hope.
kiss, touch, **** love. it’s enough
for two criminals.
Aug 17, 2012
Aug 17, 2012 at 1:55 PM UTC
A Raven sits alone
So cold you'd think its stone.
The superstitious run and hide,
Thier fear of death much too high.
And though he seems insane,
And unshaven man rest on a bench below the Raven's perch,
And told it a tale of a man once clean shaven.
He tells the Raven with a hollow tone,
How the man used to walk head up high,
Not a speck of devastation in his eyes.
How the man thought he had it all,
Riches, power, and fame.
But one day, walking the cobblestone street,
The man saw a girl, he just had to meet.
She wasn't beautiful and posh in the eyes of society,
But the man saw that she was an angel.
He told the Raven how the man won her heart,
How once together they were never apart.
He told the Raven how she became the man's wife,
How they were both so content with life,
He smile then, his eyes swelling with tears.
Then he told the omen of death.
How the woman's heart beat left her chest.
He spoke the words she whispered before parting,
His eyes dark and wet.
And cheeks stained by tears,
He told the Raven how the man lost all hope.
How the man now sits,
On a bench in Maine, telling a Raven, the omen of death, his sorrowful tale.
His voice full of grief he tells the Raven
"I pray you will be my omen"
He spoke with heavy heart that he missed his angel,
He wished only to be reunited with her.
And with that, his tale came to an end.
And the unshaven man layed to rest his head
And finally rejoined his angel they said.
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 2:42 PM UTC
The Riddle
One of you has seen my face.
One of you knows where I live.
Stuff. Important stuff,
like the locale of
my hidey-holes.
My email and my
cell disclosed
soon to be
on sale on eBay
for a trifling sum.
So now I must
disburse to parts
more remote,
reappear in a
nouveau identity.
Just a necessary precaution.
Moreover, methinks
you have grown
tired of my waning voice,
waxing ineloquently,
opining too frequently.
feel like a
thick wooly straw
welcome mat,
edges unravelling,
grown raggedy,
roundabout the edges,
or like a
paperback book,
tho well thumbed,
nonetheless,
consigned to the
bye-bye
discard box.
riddle me,
me be the riddle,
when I scribe
under a new
Nom de Plume.
will you recognize,
my signature
hid amidst the
restless words that
still need a home?
are my poems
worthy of a
second glance,
do you predispose
your attentions on
your favorites only,
the newbies squeaking
ignored and unattended,
whose ranks I have
now rejoined?
did you ever meet
a poem
you did not like?
did you ever greet
a poet
with palms
outwardly raised,
saying, no mas,
had enough,
no time for you
and your
clouded clarifications?
need you.
need you to judge me,
without the saddlebags of
predisposition and imposition.
if you need me
just give me a
loud holler
in my sleepy hollow.
tho sadly my
country road,
has listening posts
on the telephone wires,
I will know, when.
you call,
your voice,
I will come,
if you ask,
always.
I'll be riddling
in plain sight,
if you have the taste
for and of me,
you will find me
soon enough.
HOWEVER,
in emergencies
all you need dial,
my digital signature,
911 and
ask for the
Poetry Hotline.
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 11:23 PM UTC
We met at noon between picnic tables and humid Maryland heat.
Either you or the sun made me dizzy, as I talked and you nodded.
We were both distracted by the thought of air-conditioning.
We parted in August among mini-vans and goodbye kisses.
My eyes followed the license plate as you drove away, we agreed to sail catamarans the next chance we had.
We had both noted there was something in the water that summer, something purer than the water from the Chesapeake.
We rejoined in December under a Caribbean sun, not as humid as Maryland’s, surrounded by water purer than the Chesapeake.
There was still a buzz around us, like the air before a Maryland heat storm, to convince us the year of letters was not for naught.
We fell back to old habits on the Dutch side of Saint Martin.
We talked like the future was a choice and we had opted out.
We avoided words like regret and yesterday and repeated words like now, now, now and we spoke in hypotheticals.
We planned our house, or what it would be if we ever got boring enough to say words like tomorrow.
We stopped speaking in July after one thousand four hundred days of avoiding the next.
We should have known we were doomed to fail when “our song” was by Old ***** ******* and “our house” didn’t include a family room.
We should have known when our plans never involved the word tomorrow.
Jul 12, 2012
Jul 12, 2012 at 10:22 PM UTC
Drifting....
waning, wandering away from myself....
electric pine and turquoise eyes unfold,
greeting me,
a jade leopard winks with those eyes,
an inside joke
in the new moon darkness lighting the room.....
I watch myself levitate into conscious caverns
in my gray matter canyon
wind tinkles and chimes
( ( ( ( v i b r a t i n g ) ) ) )
the moist, fleshy rocks...
memories of sativa green Canada echo--
a family of strangers
humming, buzzzing & drumming rhythms
tattooing heartbeat sigils onto each other
amidst a sonic amethyst campfire
moonbeam embers glow
indigo guitar strings sing hymns
swaying and swimming in cuddle puddles--
a new age baptism.
My wings shimmer,
visions simmer and chill
the darkness returns
left with myself again
I flight right into another lightbub storm
as trebble trouble words rain bows of colors
atop white lilies reaching for stained-glass clouds.
Distantly, native flutes flourish
like rippling water rises slowly
into incandescent tides...
sweet, filagreed foam tickling-
washing
bubbles popping over pores.
and I rejoice!
a homecoming for an ocean's drop rejoined--
rejuvenated!
berserk bongos bump 'n thump
a raucous rumpus of blissful voices
vicariously lift my visage into everyone
at once!
astral silhouette forms cajole and conjoin and
we laugh ourselves into ******
And for a fleeting moment...
I reminded of the celestial infinity
that surrounds us,
where time isn't measured in promises
and trees aren't groomed to be currency.
Here, I remember the why of my existence,
only to momentarily forget,
upon opening my eyes,
until delicate deja vu echoes intermittently remind me
once in a while.
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 3:14 PM UTC
I’ve been wrestling this since last fall,
peeling my socks off around 2a.m.
and crawling into my nightmares
like a child on her hands and knees.
I’ve tossed my hair in the towel,
examined the scratches on my back
or the bite mark on my shoulder,
juxtaposing them to my flaws,
prying myself open and watching
the little memories flood
from my arteries like insects.
I’ve ******
the energy from my cheeks and given it
to my bones so they may carry
the weight of last year into this year,
the heavy balance between leaving your room
and sitting myself against the frame,
legs to my chest, listening to the unheard voices
telling me to stop loving you.
I’ve cut
you out like bruises on a strawberry,
throwing the bad parts into the black hole
to be grinded and deposited as to be rightfully
grown into something new. But this time,
after we made love on your floor
and counted the stars that left my mouth
every time you touched me like that,
I let myself cling to the light.
I stuffed the empty parts with your remnants,
and latched onto the goodbye kiss.
I’ve been wrestling with you
our bodies so close
since the summer ended and we rejoined
the feelings we spared just to pretend
that we didn’t hear the kettle roar
when we were finished.
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 6:26 PM UTC
The happiest day of my life,
Began with a whisper,
My best friends and I,
Addmitting our innermost insecurity,
A body,
Or the thought of failing,
Or an imperfection with the eye.
She talked about it,
How embarassed she was,
That plain on her eye,
It was there,
"A horrible blotch."
"A sty"
We continued talking,
Moving on to senselss topics,
Ice cream,
Doctor who,
Our favourite jokes.
But I stole a glance at my two friends
He was whispering in her ear,
Just loud enough for her to hear.
"You are so beautiful"
He rejoined the conversation.
Just as a solitary tear ran down her round face. She was smiling.
I continued talking about Doctor Who.
Like nothing had ever happened.
Because some moments are meant to be stolen.
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 11:08 PM UTC
It’s a chill and rainy Saturday night in New Haven - it’s Superbowl eve! My roommates Leong, Anna and Lisa and I were playing a game of Upwards - it’s a scrabble-like word game and we’re all strangely super competitive.
My phone went “dunk!” A happy ‘Water jug’ sound messages make when they're from one of my favorites. The message was from Charles. He was at the front gate with a package that came to the house where Charles and Mrs. Charles live (about 600 yards from the dorm). He passed me the package through the bars at the main gate, “Thanks,” I said, “ga-night,” and he was gone.
Back in my room, I ripped the box open like Christmas morning. The word game could wait - this package was from Paris. The light beige, Jacquemus, ‘Les Ballerines mary-jane pumps’ I’d ordered (forever ago) had arrived and they fit like soft leather gloves.
“Ooo! Glampse!” Lisa pronounced.
“Aren’t they?” I agreed, swiveling my hooves to show them off in the full length mirror.
When I rejoined the Upwards game, talk had shifted to tomorrow's Superbowl.
“I read yesterday that Taylor’s on her way (to the Superbowl)!” Leong declared.
“I like that she likes the NFL now,” I said.
“A lot of people hate her for it,” Anna countered.
“She was on camera twice, for 11 seconds total, in a 3-1/2 hour long game. If that upsets you, you’re bringing a lot of your own baggage to the plot.” I updogged.
Leong wants to order vegan “wings” for the SuperBowl.
“What, exactly, are those?” I asked, apprehensively.
“You’re the girl who talked me into trying buffalo-frog-legs in Paris - ney?” Leong enquired, sarcastically.
“Yeah,” I admitted, guiltily, “but they were delicious,” I said in self defense.
I’m picking the Chiefs 30-20 over the niners.
Feb 10, 2024
Feb 10, 2024 at 11:48 PM UTC
I fill my life in a suitcase
all my memories lay
headed for the higher ground
this migration leaves me questioning
will all the others be found?
I don't dare look behind me
a pillar of salt I'll be
if you don't walk with me
I'm brave, I'm for certain
that I'll make it there
we will join them
where they live care free
finally, rejoined with others
our lost sisters and brothers
come home.
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 2:24 PM UTC
Beginning in a night,
and lasting through.
Shock.
Bitterness.
Few bursts of anger.
Talking,
sharing,
secrets told.
Sadness,
tears,
and longing.
"Why?" Rained down with other questions.
To the point,
of dismissive.
"I don't want to be a girl,
I want to be a turtle."
There were happy notes,
permitted as they were.
Amongst,
Friends.
Family.
Myself.
Back.
Up.
Beautiful was/is:
butterflies,
overturned and stuck,
ocean water confining them,
to a shorter life,
when the waves wash,
higher, higher,
plucked away.
From the wet sand,
lifted into the sky,
brought to a plant,
two,
maybe three, made it.
Of cats,
strays though they were,
with food and beds under the pier.
Of the lady,
who shared her lunch,
crawling under the deteriorating boards,
to fill their bowls.
Fast-forward.
To friends,
rejoined with smile.
Though sad with an emotional pain,
of laying there,
in self.
Best friend-talks.
Friend-talks.
Family-talks.
Person-to-dog talks.
All these.
Seventy,
in the dark,
with no music.
Then July.
Fireworks,
on the seventh,
shared on the third.
A slight battle for a chair,
settled with laughter as half went to one,
and other to other.
Of walking,
in the rain,
after and before,
not during.
The ground is damp,
music pulsates.
Removed,
then off.
Birds,
the name of the wind,
two ways,
beautiful.
The sounds,
remembrance,
of home,
of before,
of the present,
of the during that became the past.
A deep pit,
opened,
also happiness.
Beautiful things are,
the wind tousling short hair: present,
thunder and lightning rolling in: present,
wrestling on the floor: past,
filled with a sudden joy as soon as a presence (his) was spotted: past,
shooting games: past
first kiss: past,
first love: past.
Of remembering,
the good and the bad,
the tough ways of learning,
of forgiveness,
of a new experience,
of tears for new reasons,
of the word "olive,"
of messing up,
of being,
of beautiful things.
"In the sky,
above the clouds,
are more clouds."
(and release)
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 11:33 PM UTC
He never regained consciousness
In all the hours I sat there.
The only sounds were the monitors’ beeping
And his staccato gasps for air.
Each breathe more labored than the last
as feeble hope turned to despair.
His extremities felt so cold,
as I sat and murmured wordless prayer.
A good life, certainly, and full;
Honor and glory both were there
As that old soldier slipped away
and his last breath rejoined the air.
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 9:45 PM UTC
Problems many of which are not getting solved
not because I'm not resolved but because I delay
to savor the day, the moon and the season
which is why I'm a non-person under the eye of eternity.
Except for my unpaid bills. And iambic pentameter.
Aaron fails English. Is there summer school?
What an ******* I want to slug him, but also
his teacher, Mr. Fisher, who's probably
a nice guy, just doing his job and raising a family.
Then there's the catheter from my last surgery
I was so sick I thought I was dying. The out of network
pathologist and radiologist have declined my insurance
and charged me to the hilt. Like I had a choice
face up in the emergency room. Facing doom, you don't ask questions.
Now that I've rejoined the living I've got to raise a million bucks
to save organic farms and endangered species I'll never see.
Perhaps none of this matters and chanting's the answer, Buddhist
precepts,
or as Dad would say This too shall pass.
Life is a back and forth game but baseball is zen meditation,
you're in right field, nothing's happening, nothing's gonna happen,
but you can't let your attention wander for one second.
I should clean and oil my trumpet for Saturday's gig
or the valves will stick. And leave early enough
not to get stuck in traffic. Other lives, other quilts.
A guy who takes the subway to a dead metal desk
and the boss who fires him with the cold hard eyes
of one who accepts the rules entirely. Actually
we're fortunate to have rules because otherwise
child soldiers armed with AK-47s would be shooting up
the village and setting fire to our thatched roofs.
Instead, under the rule of law, when snow falls
even old roofs look like problems with proofs.
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 6:40 AM UTC
Miracle child your day
Has dawned
You’ve been knocked out
And you’ve been wronged
A violent collision
Has sent your soul
Spinning and lifeless
Out of control
You lie in death
With your eyes closed
Certainly
A fatal blow
But then you awake
And open your eyes
The confusion so strong
You can’t even cry
An angel of God
Has held your head
You've survived
When you should be dead
You were given
A second chance
You can breathe
You've rejoined the dance
Your father cries
You've come alive!
There's a purpose for you
For you've survived!
So live each day
As a gift that is given
The miracle is you
And the life you are living
Feb 14, 2010
Feb 14, 2010 at 10:29 AM UTC
In the end of it all I was there for you,
I caught you just on the edge...
But your starting to fall again,
I don't want to watch, but my eyes are staying open...
I will throw down my hand to try and save you,
This is our last chance at your life...
Lets not take any risks,
This is no time to gamble or play games...
Just take my hand, and let us live until the day,
The day we die...
But it wont be over there,
We can be rejoined in the sky...
Like the clouds touch the blue
Ill be here with you.
Mar 27, 2011
Mar 27, 2011 at 9:26 AM UTC
I know...
...I know where I've been. I have a pretty good idea of where I'm going. I know my name but not the meaning. I know what I've done, and I have an idea of the Hell I'll have to go though someday to try to fix it.
And yet I still have these memories, of her, of the one I once knew. And when I walk down the Street they speak your name, and I answer, the act as though they know who we really are.
They make promises, they will never keep. They look you in the eye as they lie straight to your face, saying that they will be there when you need them the most. But when you give them the sign that you're hurting or need help, they turn their back and step away.
Every morning when I look into the mirror I see your face gazing back at me. It's cruel you know. To have left me so, to have left me alone with them. I never knew what your world was like until now.
And. As I walk through the shadows, and the valley of death to your grave. And I begin to weep, I've realized that it wasn't me who had lived all these years alone, with a lover her, and a girlfriend there. It was you.
It was you who fell in love, it was you who took Vanessa Jones to homecoming your sophomore year, and made love in the bathroom. It was you who lived, who loved.
It was you who lived, the grave called out...and it was me who died that day not you, yet it was me who took your place and you who filled my grave, until now when we finally will be rejoined at last.
My beloved, well loved ghost sister. The one who fills my grave.
I know, because we are one and the same.
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 12:32 PM UTC
Tender moments brought by unsavory words,
Anger meets passion-
While rubbing together
Your body clenching-
My sweet mind
I feel your horrors as you felt mine
Convulsing movements-
Persistent touch-
We wont let go
We love too much.
I kissed you often-
Now left in dismay-
You are so very, very far away.
Made distant-
Your touch fades-
You're in my eye
And I in yours.
I miss you always
I’m feeling lonesome-
Read, Write, Speak-
Where lies a response?
Can you hear my voice?-
It feels so loud but dose not transcend-
Rejoined by a reply and my heart shall mend-
A letter this is,
So to you my words I lend.
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 5:52 AM UTC