He pointed a finger.
I think you forget,
he said,
where you came from.
Where you've been.
I think you've forgotten
what you were,
and what made you
I don't forget.
He spoke to her face,
directly to her eyes.
I remember,
every dreary day
and every dirty moment.
I remember you.
I'll always remember who
you were,
and know what you are now.
Don't think you can forget, just because
you're in a different place.
Have a care how you go.
He looked at her another long moment,
turned
and walked down the pavement,
to the corner
where the traffic light changed
from Don't Walk to Walk
without need for him to break his
crooked stride.
She watched until the white
of his back
had shrunk and faded
with the distance
and the night,
shuddered once,
then contemplated a long season
in Noosa.
~
-
Author:
Frank Prem (
Offline) - Published: March 6th, 2018 00:45
- Comment from author about the poem: The Book of Evenings.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 13
- Users favorite of this poem: Laura🌻
Offline)
Comments2
So he has gone. Will he ever return, I will know in time.
That's optimistic GF. This set of poems raises questions, but doesn't often answer them, I'm afraid.
Frank,
A fine write, my friend!
Good question to ponder...
Will he ever come back?
~Laura~
hehehe if she escapes to Noosa it won't matter!
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