twelve
seconds slip into the sea of grief quicker than the blanket of wamrth you shielded me with,
minutes melt into a myriad of drops of tears that drip slowly, slowly,
hours hurtle past the light tunnel and here I am, at the end enveloped in darkness:
i hope I'm not too far behind, yet my mind tells me
you have migrated to somewhere far, far beyond my touch
that the new place will welcome you and that I'll be stumbling after your footsteps
for 65 years more--
how i wish R.I.P. meant return if possible
***
A/N ; goodnight, mi abuela, sweet dreams.
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PoetryPOETRY 'such sadness; a creative mind that cannot be expressed only through those crooked smiles that left me confessed' A poetry book that speaks wonders of love, life and tragedies. All Rights Reserved by Rachel W.
