the grass withers as the sun sets,
the eyes close as the hands rest,
the soil dries as the rose wilts.
the laugh of my heart has turned to whimper,
the lightness has turned to weight.
the time has come to put out the candle.
the polish has turned to rust.
YOU ARE READING
Letters
PoetryA collection of unsent letters between intersecting lines - destined to meet once and be apart for life.
