Cold air leaves a mist
memories dance like a tryst
With each chill your missed
About the Creator
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More stories from Kenneth cruz and writers in Poets and other communities.
Sipping From The Siren: Hot Coffee and Trepid Thoughts
As steaming smoke snakes and rises, I see trepidation as wars escalate, bodies fall and missiles flash, it’s the 4th of July in reverse, ports closed, prices soar, a hurricane roars, overseas our money we pour
By Kenneth cruzabout a year ago in Poets
Babbling Dixie
The short form of tomorrow is never the whole story. Abbreviations mean nothing when we are born to die and we all are aren't we? Being spoken for before birth is something we're not supposed to remember like some kind of karma after effect. Still here we are spending our lives looking for each other.
By Canuck Scriber Lisa Lachapelle7 days ago in Fiction
Comments (3)
Sad and I agree that it sounds like song lyrics. Nicely Done!!
Reads like song lyrics.
We all have somebody we miss like this. Loved your Haiku!