Ya know, the halls seem to echo more these days.
The sink doesn't get as full.
The laundry doesn't pile up.
The sound of Fur Elise doesn't fill the house.
The driveway doesn't have your car in it as often.
Your empty chair taunts me everytime I eat dinner alone.
Like the bowls in the kitchen I can never reach.
I miss the way your voice sounded.
It is like the harmony of angles.
I miss the sparks in your eyes.
They look as if your eyes were the night sky on the fourth of July.
I miss your very much desired hug.
It is the drug to my addiction.
Every other weekend is starting to turn into months.
Those months could turn into years.
And soon you'll be off to the military.
It's been about 5 months since I've last seen you.
Do you miss me?
Do you love me?
Do you remember me?
YOU ARE READING
A Spark Of Hope
PoetryTHE GESTURE: By George Oppen The question is: how does one hold an apple Who likes apples And how does one handle Filth? The question is How does one hold something In the mind which he intends To grasp and how does the salesman Hold a bauble he int...
