Nightmare - Poem by Westley Lobo
Bunches of flowers made into a wreath,
Dozens of wreaths adorn your grave,
Blood, flesh and bones can no more breathe,
Your warm breath is what I crave.
Only memories remain in my mind,
Like footprints on wet sand,
Was this our only bind?
Will the waters flow and level the land?
You and me together, hand in hand,
Down the altar, was it our past?
Let the fairy GodMother wave her wand,
This, one dream, I do not want to last.
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Westley Lobo's Other Poems
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You