Not Lost in France
Poetry
Wasted Love.
She stood
on the
corner of
her
solitude
watching
the
ebb and flow
of the
others
basking
in
Christmas
cheer.
Couples laughing
their
way
down cobbled
streets to
warmer places.
Standing on the
corner
of her solitude,
a bird began
to sing,
and the face on the
faded photograph
that
she held
in the palm
of
her hand,
smiled back
once
more.
There she had
stood
for a decade
or was it
more?
A modern day
Penelope
searching through
the sea of
people and
souvenirs for
her wasted
love,
you know,
the one from
before.
Dave English 27th November 2005.
That Sometime Thing.
That sometime
thing,
You know,
when lights
dim and
thoughts race
back to other
times.
The enticing smiles
that lead to
tortured white sheets
that smell of summer
fields dried
by a
devil sun
then
her lips,
honey sweet,
as she pressed
her youth into
my empty life
holding eternity in
her eyes
and me
in her arms.
Kissing heaven’s
messengers, dying
a small
cosmic death,
reaching
paradise and
laughing
at
fate.
Too quick
the
morning
the sad goodbyes.
Waving,
crying the last
tear,
realising
It was
just another
sometime thing.
You know,
when
lights
dim……..
dave.english copyright 2005-06-25
