On Rusted Wings
On these rusted wings I fall.
All hopes for our reunion buried beneath soil,
fearing my dearest will return no more.
So I wait one week ... one month ... one year.
listening with an ear towards thehorizon,
hearing no reply but still remaining faithful.
I sit here in an empty room, recalling those
precious times we spent in each-others gaze.
And as my tired eyes grow heavy,
I slowly drift ... drift ... drift.
Weaving my fingers through your ambrosial
hair, we closed our eyes, and our lips locked,
but when they opened I lie awake in bed alone.
wishing you were here; wishing we could soar
together once again.
Copyright © Daniel Fletcher | Year Posted 2011
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