Is It Poetry
To My Once - Poem by Is It Poetry
To my you whom once you were, now someone else.
Told the same and of chess and of games the end.
Master of that and was a long time before.
Being as you are and still are, I am told thus, in thought you are.
I had forgotten my most cherished my dreams.
But as for what was then, it was then as before.
It is my time growing short, pay her my attention.
Here it was, it was here maybe there, before me.
Like the sun on that day it was bright, she my dreams.
And for her on the wall grows my rose.
Slowly the rose, very slow, the other you between me,
between my sweet dreams.
I should have then unto you, until that rose touched the sky.
She is the rose-that is my wall, this is so.
A shadow that night came by she.
I am white, I am black, I am grey,
verily to you do I say, I am all that she needs me to be.
I lived with your shadow, it stood by her side.
Soon from my hand,
the wind will then blow as the bird, falls forth from the sky.
My rose is the light/ I write of my dreams, before me of her.
Just to thick is the wall.
Many missing bricks in the wall, they have known
Justis is a shadow, I have seen, like a leaf in my hand.
My darkness is here before me they know now at hand.
The being in question with more as the same,
as I once did as a child, advisory of genes, broken sky.
I have passed through that wall,
she must pass through that wall, alone.
Find my dream.
Order the facts, I can replace the bricks in the wall.
Darkness no help to dawns break of the night,
the shadow can be taken back.
Thousands of lights/ I will write of the sun.
Being guided productive,
she can dream of ten thousand revolutions around the sun!
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