Rites
As we move along,
slowly, surely
lesser I hold of us
and in the days to come,
I am afraid,
Each passing moment will bring,
fewer things to remember you by
From vivid to haze,
then to a straight murky phase,
as I glance behind,
a memory at a time,
In a fading motion,
In bits, in a slow erosion
One day we will,
cease to be,
Never to know
why.
Poetry by sagi
Read 1242 times
Written on 2014-11-28 at 02:23
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