Left, But Not Right
I, a cocoon lonely
in the corner of an empty room.
That face: encased
reached up knowing it's place.
With lips sublime
and eyes that shine.
You left,
feeling blindly in this cleft.
For that night,
dawn-less with bitter bite.
Coming down,
am I to be your clown?
From debase in utter haste,
I want to climb,
to stars that are mine.
Bereft of love:
the mood moves deft.
Within this plight
in the darkest of night:
I withdraw to tomb,
darkened as womb.
Was it too fast; to move you to past?
Copyright © Ross Thompson | Year Posted 2011
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