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by Naisha Author IconMail Icon
Rated: E · Poetry · Mystery · #1241000
Time as an apostrophe... He's so patient with us.
Missed am I by those who know me least.
Despised am I by those who need me most.
Judged best by aching, rotting bones deceased
Their knowledge of my value ever lost.

Who am I countless tears have asked,
Yet countless more no reply shall find.
I am no-one and everywhere but the past,
Life’s discordant singing and echo in the mind.

To hate me is a waste of you as much as I
So all I ask is that you smile and nod ...
                                                          ... when I pass you by.
© Copyright 2007 Naisha (naisha at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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