I hold your left hand in hopes you'll feel me.  The love I hold in my heart cannot reach my useless tongue and random mutters wander aimlessly between us, bouncing off the walls of our ears.  Winter can be cruel, killing off parts of the tree before it is ready to die.

Two strangers trapped in
a telephone booth missing
autumn's fallen change

- Patrick Lui


Doug said...

Wow! What a gorgeous poem. I fully get it.

Rachelle said...

Yeah, we get it. We are better for our winters though.