if after this night there will be another one
I remember the small things we said
in the small hours
of the dreams
I picked out
for you
for I
keep little
I only need a little
in this frail world of ours
I wait for you to call me yours
as I wait for you to tell me the story again
the clench of your fist easing as it meets flowers
I only need a little
in this frail world of ours
I wait for you to call me yours
as I wait for you to tell me the story again
the clench of your fist easing as it meets flowers
_____________________________
Pic: Under the Beal Street Bridge.
6 comments:
xoxoxo
Nice
This poem has an almost dystopian feel to it. The mood is so striking. It's simple, yet so vast. I love how it mimics the photograph. The second stanza is very powerful, and the repetition of the word Little is so effective. I really like this one.
This is too sad, Maya. I cannot with sad poetry right now!
Thank you, Nance! I took this photo last week and it stayed in my head, I had to go dig it out for this poem. I'm so chuffed you noticed.
Ok, more hopeful next time, Engie <3. I hope things feel lighter, friend.
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