Writin' during lunch break -- what what?
Who's to say...
Who’s to say…
what family means?
Bound by blood, bound by heart.
Who’s to say…
where I am to place my affections?
Emotions are not subject to rules and regulations.
Who’s to say…
how I express my fervor and ardour?
Paper thin greetings cards and empty sentiments.
Who’s to say…
who I love?
What is love?
All works are the intellectual and artistic of property of Londyn J A Korol (née Barrett). Plagiarism is a crime. "A writer is someone for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people." I'm muddling my way through this craft and I'm happy to muddle with you. Let's muddle together.
27 juin 2011
26 juin 2011
I had a title for this just a second ago...
And now I can't remember. This is why I shouldn't write in my head while I'm trying to go to sleep. --
Addendum 27 June: oh now I remember...
A Lot Goes Unsaid
I meet you at the gate,
converse over the fence.
You drum your fingers on the latch,
I smile and bid you farewell.
Go back in the house – days pass.
I see you go by the gate,
run outside and you just wave.
I drum my fingers on the fence,
stare into the distance and pretend.
Go back in the house – weeks pass.
You slip through the gate,
pull me into you.
Our fingers cannot pull us closer,
the world melts around us.
Run back in the house – you are gone.
Addendum 27 June: oh now I remember...
A Lot Goes Unsaid
I meet you at the gate,
converse over the fence.
You drum your fingers on the latch,
I smile and bid you farewell.
Go back in the house – days pass.
I see you go by the gate,
run outside and you just wave.
I drum my fingers on the fence,
stare into the distance and pretend.
Go back in the house – weeks pass.
You slip through the gate,
pull me into you.
Our fingers cannot pull us closer,
the world melts around us.
Run back in the house – you are gone.
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