Wailing sirens won’t steal my sleep
Creased sheets won’t have your shape
Rainy days won’t change my mood
Ringing phones won’t have your voice
Soothed soul, my heart won’t bleed
In the fields where I will roam
Still for you I won’t keep anger
But a place right next to mine.
I love the feeling this poem conveys:)
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Thank you Robin. It’s a try to make peace with the past… Cheers, HC
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You’re a wonderful person!
Keep up with the awesome posts!
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Thank you so much, I am flattered! 🙂
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Nah! You’re good!
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Peaceful heaven 🙂
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🙂 ❤
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Evocative. Definately from the deep recess of the heart.
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You are right as usual, I had to go and dig this out from deep below… Cheers, Tony
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TIC When you see plums remember they turn into dried up and shriveled prunes with only one “nut”. But we can retain some of what we learned, pass it on and meet our fates turning into dried up shriveled prunes. And what would they want with my other “nut”??????
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Isn’t it interesting and awful how we see so much of that person in the little mundane things in life. It’s not the big things like anniversaries and birthdays that wear you down. It’s the forgotten toothbrush, the favorite coffee mug in the cupboard, and (used to be) their voice on the answering machine. I loved what you said about “ringing phones won’t have your voice…” You’re getting there, buddy. {{{HC}}}
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Thank you Calen. I wish it only was a matter of small details. :*
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Nicely done brother!
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Thank you brother!
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