Seems I never grasp the connection
within any watercolored recollection –
how memory leaves me blank,
with no one now left to thank.
When the future becomes my past,
while nothing then truly does last
beyond this moment at hand,
slipping away like cryptic sand...
Yet I do try hard to unremember
each and every bloodless November,
leaves and truths strewn on the ground,
whispering screams without a sound.
For I find myself lost again here,
caught between a laugh and a tear –
never sure then what to do
since every single lie feels true.
Or that is how it always seems,
as I once more trade in dreams,
give myself away each day,
just to have some poetry to say.
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Author:
Libellule (
Offline) - Published: May 17th, 2025 05:52
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 4
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments3
Poetry and the trade of dreams, beautiful 🕊🙏🏻
This poem was well written with good word selection and rhyme in a good pattern. Very nicely said and a fave
Another lovely write, beautifully written
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