Poetry

detachment

But in time
you’d understand
what kept me
from falling.

The wind
stopped blowing
for some time.

I walked away
tired and hopeless
from the edge
of the precipice.

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Bitter

seasons of hearts

The clouds are gray, the wind is gushing, and the rain is seeking attention again. Much like how my heart has been throughout this year. If the seasons are an indication of how my heart will be, spring should be next to winter.

But darling, global warming is real, and it might take my heart forever.

Daily Post’s Hopeful.

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Poetry

The Last Dance

sad-couple-last-dance-blackandwhite

Dancing with the night
The piano keeps singing
His eyes are the stars
Her voice is the wind

They never stopped time
Played with it instead
For the two of them know
Someone will leave home

Daily Post’s Strike a Chord. [Photo]

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