Sometimes it seems that
I'm writing these words
on the sand,
like in that quaint picture,
"footprints in the sand."*
The wind is in my face...
Is this all there is?
Words that face as fast as I write them?
My words dry as sand
that blows in my face
blinding me?
If only I could get you to look
before my words are lost.
In my vision, on the sand,
there are no footprints...
As if I'd never come here,
and never written these words.
Or it never mattered
what I said,
you would not see...
you are not here to see.
You are gone,
like our footprints,
like my words.
Gone!
YOU ARE READING
What Really Matters: Poems About Love, Loss, & Trauma
PoesíaThis is a collection of poems inspired by love, loss of love, and other tragic and traumatic events that began in late July of 2000 - so some poems are about love and others about the loss of that love. This is my autobiography in poetry form. I had...
