The midnight smiles.
I write words.
Pockets of emptiness,
sealed symbols.
Absence does not make
the heart grow fonder.
It lends distance,
and forgetting.
Love, so much
over-used.
Love is, in truth,
really love for self.
A moment, this
is what I have.
A small space of
time that I claim.
It is mine, to waste
or to cherish.
A noise outside.
Not sure what it is.
Something abusive,
something harsh.
The midnight smiles.
I write words.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It just keep getting better.... I'm pretty jealous. I know every one is different but I want to be your kind of different lol. You have a creative mind.