I was in bed when
awoken by drunken whispers
as faint as wet chalk,
two fresh lovers can
talk for hours,
until the bird sings
and there is dawn.
In one of these conversations
it feels as if you could talk
forever
until peace
until death
until the end
of starvation
of poverty
of war
inevitably, though
you can’t
as we’re only fresh lovers
murmuring at dawn.
Really like how this is written out :’)
This absolutely beautiful.
Thank you so much
This has a nice feel to it 🙂
Just found you. Look forward to exploring your work.
“As faint as wet chalk”
That’s a line I wish I had come up with. Beautiful poem.
Gently beautiful–
Lovely poem. I like the line “fresh lovers”.
I really like this. 🙂
Thank you Sarsm
A Nice piece but which is more real,
loves respite or reality?
The quiet secrets of fresh lovers, captured beautifully. But the interlude into world problems really added a whole new layer of depth.
thank you for your insight