David Harris (18 June 1945 / Bradfield, England)
Your fingertips seem just out of reach,
like the lifeline to a drowning man.
Tears haze my eyes,
like the morning mist.
You are going,
but why, I don’t understand..
There has been no words between us,
no anger, no cries of rage.
Your suitcase is by the door,
is my life turning another page?
What went wrong between us,
that you feel you can not stay?
Has someone rekindled an old flame?
Has the one burning for me gone out?
Before the door closes between us,
please think of what you do.
Think of the seeds of sadness,
you are about to sow.
If you have any doubts,
close the door and don’t go.
Comments about this poem (Leaving by David Harris )
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