Vanish
The elements in my thoughts are emptiness in
my hands, the uncertainty of your reach, i cannot
think of, but only hope that the day is not yet gone
entirely from my extending shelf. Where the literature
of infinite prose are the taste of one self, to become
myself as one into your spoken words. The writing
all becomes a shadow of many regrets. My hands
can only feel the texture of the paperback, but not
the words written, they can only register in my
conscious to stay and appear when i need them. I
cannot grab your voice nor your thoughts, if only
i could reach the sky and write my prose in a cloud
you shall read my contemplation from a distance
where ever you are. Tell me where it is your standing,
unless you want me lost. For eons I have longed the
moment to come. Tell me where to find you unless
you want me to fall. The prose only say you wait
desperately for hope.
poem by Elenushka Toledo
Added by Poetry Lover
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