The Waiting - Poem by Ella Bradshaw
I find no pleasure in the seeking
Nor the incessant converse.
The shameful ritual, I look upon
With pitying contempt.
To search, to search, to
The illusion is a possibility, though
Fades with time.
The touch, the touch, the
The waiting leaves me dry.
Remembering how easy goes the living
When you have said goodbye.
Doomed to feel, but to never know.
The wind rattles at my heart.
The chill I knew long before
Creeps in the longer we're apart.
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Ella Bradshaw's Other Poems
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye