Folly
"this poem is not about what is written,
but what is not written. . . "
through the mind numbing fog
her crystal blue light houses appear
deeply penetrating my pale existence
hungered lips send tender whispers of love
sailing the wind to my moaning ear
she listens for ' I love you ' in the silence
our wayward hearts beckon to know
eternal passion through the distance
Copyright © Edwin Baldwin | Year Posted 2011
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