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Twisted Times
May 4, 2013
Of the wasted hours,
The twisted curtains.
trodden grass,
and fall waiting at door.
climbing the steps,
to seldom serenity.
stained with blood and miseries,
an apology clinging to soul.
more tears and silence cries,
facing the cold brute inside.
Just another stroke,
It's all so bright.
No matter what you do,
It would never be alright.
Over the wall it's all written,
in photographs it's all taken,
the memories and stories,
Of our wasted hours.
Now it's just,
A moment away,
Bruised pride and
another way.
© Andrew F., Lake In The Hills, IL
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