“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Friday, September 13, 2019
May I borrow your skill-set?
She still looks at me
that way,
One day...
Take it in while you can.
I have always felt this
slipping away...
Passive-aggressive is oxymoronic,
aren't we all
both (hyphenated)?
Having the Midas Touch is not
the same as Pyrokinesis
but ignites a similar spark.
We never have any-
thing for long
enough to use the words;
Forever, Eternal, Always...
Things come and go
and its lightening to know
it has all
been done
before.
She still tries
to change
her outcome
by crossing lines
and parting ways.
No effort is wasted
judging
by the time it takes
to reach a point
of no return.
Painting by William Moore Davis [Public domain].
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