A Short Poem
A feeling blanks over my eyes,while I walk down the streets of night.
Something missing, something found,
questions beride me all around.
An expectation when I turn to look,
a shadow i probably mistook.
Now as time grows old,
I expect the heart to grow cold.
Holding pieces of a dream,
I turn to leave.
Last look back,
before I walk down a different street.
1 Comments:
i like the poem. i hate the 'last looks' though. like i feel like it should be a 'up & leave thing'..alas..i cant help myself from that one last longing glance..even tho i figure it does more harm than good. personally. that is.
and i guess if you could make out the shadow, it probably means there was some form of light..and it wasnt all dark & bleak...that's a good thing huh..?
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