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Photograph
dry and parched, the love we had,
deep in my memory,
i wander through mirages,
like this photo of you and me,
and though it's badly weathered ,
donned with cracks, it's fading shade,
the sweetness lingers deep within,
about the love we made,
my fist is clenched, the beads of sweat,
fragmented, splintered glass,
forever leaving one concern,
"Why can't i throw it in the trash?"
1:37 AM 6/23/2013 ©
I know right? As if we could
I know right? As if we could forget? But some times it's all we have. And that can be tough to deny a part of yourself that once existed... Great write! :D
Don't let any one shake your dream stars from your eyes, lest your soul Come away with them! -SS
"Well, it's love, but not as we know it."
It definitely is....I would
It definitely is....I would say it's impossible, but I guess some people fake it real good. That is whole argument many times about PTSD that stops people from healing, is that others don't understand that in time, as you heal, you gain so very much from the bad experiences that to forget, would actually be doing yourself a disservice. Same with sentimental losses.
...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."
"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "
Old memories
Old memories are nice to look at. You know what is nostalgia. Aptly discussed in your poem Nice reading..........
©bishu