wreathe of words sprout
upon doorstep bed
beneath a far-looking moon,
whisper to ear
upon fading footfalls,
daily gaining near
nestled between gaps
of tiles and grout
waiting for mistletoe
to be hung again
warm embrace shall follow,
as fingers fumble for keys
that will turn the locks
that leave me fettered . . .
. . . each time you leave
-
Author:
crypticbard (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: March 5th, 2026 05:54
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 12
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange
- In collections: delayed telecast.
Offline)
Comments5
Distance makes the heart grow fonder seems the theme of this poem. Most lovely Cryptic
It’s really true when we experience it as such and at other times distance is such a relief 🤩🕊️🙏🏻
So true
tightly knit poem enjoyed
Good write A. Erm, I never said I was leaving. I said I'm looking in less often for now, maybe. lol.
Oh, that’s good to know, O🙏🏻
My friend, the poem moves through small, ordinary spaces… doorsteps, tiles, keys… yet each image carries the weight of longing. That domestic stillness makes the emotional tether even stronger. The ending gathers it all into one quiet truth: “. . . each time you leave.” A subtle and evocative piece, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Also sounds like an 80s song🙏🏻🕊️
For sure. It does!
We all move on in life Rik and will find the wonder of life in time.
Andy
Yes, in time! Thanks, Andy🙏🏻🕊️
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