Venéle Writes in London

The Moon and Its Stars

London, November 19th
~
The crescent moon.
The gracefulness of the owl.
I see myself, my eyes full of fear.
Will I lose you?
Will I not?
Or will I lose myself; I know not.
One thing is just another thing.
Death is such a painful word.
I feel depressed; stressed.
Thinking
What would I do
If not with you?
Transparent tears wet my face.
My heart stings a little.
In this mustard piece of cloth,
A dear friend;
Now lost.
~
Venéle G. Frank