The pictures upon the wall
show people we never met,
how nature looked in the fall,
and the homes they wanted to get.
We never truly understood
their love and way of life,
what food they thought tasted good
and the joy the felt when giving their friend a high five.
We keep on playing that little game
pretending to know who they were,
but if someone would ask us for their name
we would be speaksless for sure.
But to tell you the truth
I want to meet the people I never met,
see how nature looked in the fall
and the home they wanted to get.
I want to understand their love and way of life,
know what food they thought tasted good
and the joy they felt when giving their friend a high five.
I hate playing that little game,
I want to know who they were
so when you ask for their names
I will know them for sure.
But I know it's a bit late,
it's been so long since they went away.
So I'll keep on listening to the wind
and whisper what it asks me to say.
YOU ARE READING
[ Title ]
PoetryMy thoughts are passion and ripped-off wings and falling and my paper is a child and closed palms and butterflies.