Missing My Wife
Missing my wife
Thinking of my wife makes me more alone.
Time flows before me; moments becoming eternities.
I love her.
Her beauty fills my dreams;
so pleasant a vision.
She is my reality.
She sits beside me. We sing from one memory.
I am like a child wandering beyond my boundaries.
The simple lack of her presence forces me to ponder existence;
poetry brings her no closer.
I am all suddenly old; my mind addled with her remembrance
that does so tease me.
I take my heavy body, my heavy heart to bed.
My pillow, a sad substitute for hugging.
We cry.
Copyright © Peter Fifield | Year Posted 2015
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