Don't go;
Not yet,
Not now;
It's not even Christmas,
I jest;
Too many words,
Not yet said;
Not enough memories,
I've bled red;
And bruised blue,
Before there was ever you;
In my mind in my days,
There was a blank slate;
But you made me create,
Another reality;
And that is the insanity,
It consumes;
You exhume,
My hidden thoughts;
How they lingered,
Long ago;
And now they go,
Before I've had a chance;
To put pen to paper,
And you run away now like in a caper;
Shall I stop you perchance?
(05/27/2010)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem