It is a silent
That whispers sweetly in my ear…
It travels through the wind,
heavy hands steal my memories,
whipping through my hair….
That invisible brush.
I simply don't know what to say...
The point is lost in itself anyhow…
A mind game you claim insane
when you slay me with the ironic bow.
The points were tallied.
Gather your trophy.
And I'll go home with what dignity is left.
The bitter crumbs I gather
those precious memories like diamonds in the rough
This cliché is enough
It is the last straw.
I will relive those days in awe no more.
Sir Charles, I do implore
That you let it be silently known,
that our love has out grown
and ran its harsh course over two years unseen.
Let us entreat the memories to shun our naïve minds
Which do defeat the moment of now,
whose future continues to rewind
Let me be forgotten
And do not remind me
Two years back
Of when the days were long
And nights so black
That we held hands
Gripping tightly to something that we'll never own.
Sir Charles… remember me no more….
Just let it be silently known.
This page was last updated on June 27, 2007 by the KIWW Webmaster.