Now Poem by Bernard Eseo

Why not speaketh of the one,
Of the solemn who has gone?
Leaving the soul behind
And yet, nothing left to find.

The grin on the face,
The chill on the spine,
Gave me the shivers.
Still shivering and not fine.

Left without a trace,
Just the memory of her face
Hides around the broken
Just plain old disgrace.

Everything seeks
And everything will find..
There's just someone to be right
Rightful and kind..