The midnight smiles.
I write words.
Pockets of emptiness,
sealed symbols.
Absence does not make
the heart grow fonder.
It lends distance,
and forgetting.
Love, so much
over-used.
Love is, in truth,
really love for self.
A moment, this
is what I have.
A small space of
time that I claim.
It is mine, to waste
or to cherish.
A noise outside.
Not sure what it is.
Something abusive,
something harsh.
The midnight smiles.
I write words.

Tweet

Comments on this poem/writing:

Click here to read other Poems by Chris G Vaillancourt

Copyright©2017-1999 by Rebecca R. Hammack

COPYRIGHT NOTICE: All Rights Reserved.   No part of this website, including all pictures and written words,  may be reproduced or copied in any manner from this website without  permission of the original author of the work.  All poetry and pictures herein remain the sole property of the original author and/or copyright owner.  All poetry on this website has been submitted by the original author of the work. To contact any author of the work please e-mail: dreamer@dreamersreality.com  so the proper person may be notified.