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Thursday, 9 June 2016

Poem: Linger

Some people, they come and go 
Weaving through our lives, 
Like an unfinished cross-stitch, 
Incomplete, puzzling, abstract. 

They may have been fun for a while, 
Maybe helpful, perhaps likeable, 
But they are not my loves, 
Not my loves. 

Some things, they linger in our lives, 
They could be objects we believe,breathe 
Or an experience we hold dear in minds, 
Like beacons in dark nights. 

They may have warmed us for a while 
Been the companions in times of lone, 
But they are not my loves, 
Not my loves.... 

Copyright © 2016 thearcticstar

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