Happiness is an alien concept now.

The people I love are far away.
I am still angry for their loss.
I raise my fist in rage to the city.

Each night I dream of our time together.
Each day I remember that they are gone.

Even so, their words have a mystical power.
I listen to them in my memory.
One after the other, their image appears.
It gives me hope of better days to come.

W. Wayne B.

© 2012 W. Wayne B.

Other creations

About William Wayne Smith

I'm a poet, library fan and maker.
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