Lesson 18
There are no stars tonightbut something still twinkles,
something still shines, and
I need to close my eyes
to see. Speak, memory,
what is it that ails me?
What is it that whispers
in the silences of night?
What is it that crawls
on floors, walls, and windows
to reach me, or am I simply
aching for a loss
that I can no longer recall,
or even pretend to remember?
Why is being alive so often
a mess made of actions
that have long since been sifted
out from the sands of time?
Poetry by Sameen
Read 84 times
Written on 2024-08-09 at 06:36
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