April 2019



When the body, warms.

But the heart.....

Is still, as cold, as ice.

The eyes may grow moist.

For loneliness, is ......a silent killer.

That mingles, within the crowd.

Best then to die, in battle.

In some foreign, forgotten land.

With the name, of an impossible love....

On the tip of your tongue.

Roast, my bones slowly.

Savour, my loves scent.

Scatter my ashes to the wind

So I may seek out.

That, illusive



Giajl © Jim Love

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Throw a party. - No more lonliness, connect and keep connecting. This is what old folks do. - slc