the desolate wind sweeps across the desert
picking up dust, leaves and the occassional call
of a lost bird
and yet,
I am left standing,
waiting for that which will not come.
picking up dust, leaves and the occassional call
of a lost bird
and yet,
I am left standing,
waiting for that which will not come.
tired.
the fleeting and warm smile of the unknown
lends me a helping hand in my quest across the desert,
as the gold leaves my fingertips
the cold night surrounds me
and I sit
waiting for the next sunrise.
lends me a helping hand in my quest across the desert,
as the gold leaves my fingertips
the cold night surrounds me
and I sit
waiting for the next sunrise.
(ps- hakka noodles)
2 comments:
New job has been keeping me away from RFS for sm time....briefly put this might be quite away from a gud poem (:D) but it is definitely very close to a thoughtful creative mind. keep up the gud work. :-)
haha. i just saw this now. it's not a poem - I just enjoy splitting sentences up into different lines.
it makes one think a lot more than usual.
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