So, I wait, like I usually wait, starring at your eyes, being unruffled, for the moment,that, you open your eyes, and ask me to stay, for the day, for years, and beyond, suddenly, from an unconscious life. Ah!I must be dreaming again, it can only be a dream. I am used to waiting I am used to patience. Yet, the overgrown shadow, over your mass, makes me stale and I mumble again. "Cynical woman", You shout. And. I walk back to my lover, packing my rug and myself. On his arms, I lie, calm and silent like the ocean pulled inward; whose essence is an imaginary cult. Sometimes, I love you much. sometimes, crowded with hatred. Forget you, at other times. Yet, when I try to imagine your smile, I see a face curved, and teeth in between -A face over a face- it makes me weasel ! 'I miss everything, don't I ?' And,I wait ,
the ending words said it all .. we do wait .. wait to turn ourselves selfish .. to no longer love for the one who no longer is ours .. yet something inside keeps us going with a hope that maybe ... i can relate so closely with this write ... just one thing - i wonder if it should be "staring" instead of "starring"
the ending words said it all .. we do wait .. wait to turn ourselves selfish .. to no longer love for the one who no longer is ours .. yet something inside keeps us going with a hope that maybe ... i can relate so closely with this write ... just one thing - i wonder if it should be "staring" instead of "starring"
. i hate waiting ... and i sometimes think the universe makes me wait for eben only because i hate waiting ... to balance me out ... this is beautifully written ... i think it's the best i've read of you so far ...
I have always felt the urge to write.. but I am uncertain about the texture, technics etc. (if there are any).
I have written poems much more than prose though I am not a big fan of poems.. Fact i.. more..