Living For The Next Love-Sign Poem by james watkin
Living For The Next Love-Sign
A strange thing; unsettling.
But a comfort
To we bereaved; who avail us
Of all, any
Shadows, whispers, flown, blown nightly;
Teared panes athwart.
Whilst that door, by Death, sealed
Do keep open.
Times of its welcome, left besides
World's, emptier
In the heart. More vain, uglier
Strains to please then.
Saturday, February 25, 2023
Topic(s) of this poem: death,alone
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5/6/2024 4:10:37 AM # 1.0.0.1119
