A few brief moments of hope.
Was it you?
Were you there?
A gentle passing touch
Tendrils of sudden scent
Familiar voice?
I smell your hair
Taste your lips
See your eyes
But no.
You're gone
and all I have is memory.
Good memories,
fond reminiscence,
but none that can be new.
Evocative scent and sound:
temptress of memory.
Traitor to reality.
You're gone, long dead.
All I have left are a few hopeful seconds
of delusion and memory.
YOU ARE READING
The Tree of Dreams
PoetryRandom poetry and the occasional drabble or dribble of other short random thought from the depths my somewhat bemused brain, or possibly Brian if the schizophrenic misspelt pseudo entity that lives up there is up to his old tricks... poems from the...
