Meeting you is like spring water reflecting pear blossoms,
Seeing you is like the chirping of cicadas accompanying the summer,
Thinking of you is like a thousand arrows piercing my heart,
Remembering you is like the spring breeze brushing the mountain ridge,
Watching you is like fireworks illuminating the world,
The poems I write for you,
Last for a thousand years,
Known by all,
But only the title remains.
I remember the day you picked me out,
A shimmer on your wrist, young and proud.
The world was bright; you were full of dreams,
With laughter and plans bursting at the seams.
When the echoes of voices have softened their sound,
And the campaign signs come down from the ground,
We’re left in the quiet, in the soft light of dawn,
To mend what is fractured, to carry on.
The sun was setting, casting an amber glow over the street as I waited on the worn wooden bench at the bus stop. My eyes were drifting along the cracks in the pavement when I noticed someone sitting down beside me.
Comments
Log in or register to post comments.