They spill into being.
Floating in my mind,
haunting me like your ghost.
Begging.
For order.
For meaning.
Letters become words,
become thoughts,
become sorrow.
All these words keep me,
but none of mine could keep you.
The order was all wrong.
-N.R.
-
Author:
Squirrelly_Poet (
Offline) - Published: February 27th, 2017 06:44
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 19
Offline)
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