Tree
All I am waiting for are words.
From my ghosts.
I want to make them real.
Like a loony watching the world through a glass.
Smiling, imagining I am one of them.
Only fear keeps me from pushing the doorknob.
They say it is never too late.
Do not believe in that.
Your train to a promised land will not wait.
Another one may not come.
Copyright © Danka Sikorska | Year Posted 2016
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