Sometimes, when I see you
I could swear I feel your heart
beating in me
beating with me
so close to mine.
So is the wishful thinking
and the fanciful imagination
born of isolation
and the loss of hope.
Hearts give up and die after a while
Mine is in the process.
The feelings inspired by you keep hope alive
I've been trying to let go of that spark.
Of what use in this world is my heart?
Not a bit of use to you anyway.
But still, it lingers on thoughts of you
longing to wrap itself around you
and hold your memory dear
No comments:
Post a Comment