the future holds uncertainty,
a picture i can paint but can't quite see.
i pick up my brush and paint a stroke of red.
but wait - that's not what the future said.
'it was though!' i whined.
'i took note of all the signs!'
but the future can foreshadow
with big red rose buds and seeds.
still - what grows can turn out to be a weed.
YOU ARE READING
Gone was time • poetry collection
PoetryYou don't see it. You don't hear it. You don't feel it. Quietly, it creeps away like a sinful thief, stealing all your moments, your months, your memories and gone was time. More often than not, many of us don't fully comprehend the weight a moment...
