Questions
question
what I see
throughout
was it history
a serenading sunset
breathing life
the waning days of me
freely
where winds whisper
lacunae
latched to the longing
for the end(ings)
flipping parchment
past the bends
forked
in the streams
(un)consciousness
un-fully awake
what may or may not
take
her blush
her brush
each wish I make
I question
no mistake(n)
her (re)marks
moments held in secret
a portrait on an empty wall
shadows risk it all
illusions never fade
nor fake
Copyright © Ts Poetry | Year Posted 2021
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