Passion lays dead beside me,
Nothing feels full to even make it
I wait as seconds linger,
and shadows scrape me off
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Where is the passion
When shadows crawl the walls
Displacing silent needing
To sighs, till morning calls?
The answer may be close at hand. The Poets Tree *wink*
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7/29/2021 12:23:00 AM # 220.127.116.116