The third.
Two thirds of me,
Are close everyday,
The other missing,
It lives your way.
I saw it two days ago,
Now it seems afar,
My hands can’t reach it,
In my way stands a bar.
In your presence I smile,
I am me,
You bring out the best,
Give life to everything I want to be.
Within its weekly return,
Its all I can do not to dance,
But Its seemingly pushing me away,
And removing my chance.
I can’t form the words,
To ask for the reality,
Truth is, what I’m afraid of,
Is the finality.
The two thirds close,
Are not who I am,
The last third is real,
The rest are pure sham.
To the last third,
I beg you please stay,
Tell me where we’re going wrong,
Then I’ll know what to say.
Too many mistakes,
I wish I could treat,
Perhaps I care too much,
Though this I can’t beat.
If I could speak,
If you’d give me the time,
I’ll tell you my worries,
Tell you I’m not fine.
I saw it two days ago,
Now it couldn’t seem further away,
leaving me lost to thought,
perhaps it doesn’t give a damn anyway.
Two thirds of me,
Are close everyday,
To the other I’ll beg,
Please walk my way.
YOU ARE READING
The Pure, Simple, Truth.
PoésieLife isn't always the best thing. But we only get one. So here I am, making the most of it, trying my best to get everything i feel down into words so that i don't have to dwell on those feelings and thoughts anymore. My latest collection of poems...