tagNon-Erotic PoetryVisiting Hour

Visiting Hour


The desert
I must cross
to reach you
gets wider
every day.
No oasis to offer
hope or soften
the harshness of this
only I must make.

Behind me footsteps come
from a place
we both have made,
before me, on the next
wave, a shimmering
mirage of what you
used to be. If I strain
to hold you, keep you
with me, the mirage melts
leaving me
weeping at the insult.

You are the innocent
smiling with no
recognition. I too am
sinless, mourning
the loss of the living
and dying of thirst

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byGuiltyPleasure© 7 comments/ 1466 views/ 1 favorites
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by Anonymous

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