At sixty-five years of age, with silver-greying hair, She sits on her cozy brown-leathered arm-chair; she closes her eyes and drifts back in time, to ponder over the past, and think, about all the things that aren’t, but could have been… The pages of the past unfold and there she stands- a God gifted… Continue reading The things that could have been…
How can some moments be defined; how flying birds be pushed to cage; how breathing dreams in song confined, when mortal fetters they have ravaged? Of sunken ships I no more sing, I only sing of birth - waves of sorrow, low tides bring - let me make friends with mirth! Novelty, jubilant and infallible,… Continue reading More than words…
Now all that's left is an armchair, his sweetheart graces it no more. There lies a strand of her brown hair; her return, his silent heart desperately implores. The day she left flashes before his eyes, he tries hard the tears to conceal, in hindsight he realises how quickly time flies, How does one recover… Continue reading ARMCHAIR
How can you tell my soul, to not dwell, on your thoughts; that you aren’t worth my time, are worth naught…? I cling to you, cling to the good you once did, the good you once were, the words you said, the good I knew; opening up my reserve, my heart to you, like a… Continue reading BEREFT
