Intentions

Will my silence be enough
To let you know I am no more
Will you shake your head and smile
And be as you were before
Will it be my laughter that you remember
Decades later on a summer noon
Will you ask why I never came back
Or lament why I returned so soon
Will my face be what you seek
When thinking of things past
Will you forget the first day we met
Was the day that we met last
Will these hands that once were mine
Remain forever alone in memory
Will you extend yours just to share
Their shadow so I could be We
Will my words ever be able to describe
This ache that now I feel
Will you break my heart each time
You want your own to heal…

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Author: TheHumanAnvil

I find poetry as a gentle reminder, a medium to relay and dwell upon all things considerate people find inconsiderate. Poetry as an art is akin to a lamp or a magnifying glass. It trails volumes of meaning behind obscure, vague words. I have been writing for a time now, and intend to do so for the time to come. And hopefully, hopefully, hope that one day, someday, a person stumbling across this veil of words, find it alluring enough to shift aside the curtain and peer, into the eyes of the naked truth which sways with the wind of reason. If you have any thoughts, it would be my pleasure to know them, if you don't then it would be a pleasure to not. Be my guest. This feast of words is for you.

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