PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Talk to the waves

Passing strangers

All appearing the same

Yet, not one is



I hear her calling

With a heavy breath

After the falling

Yet, it is foreign



Now, knowledge is a withering petal

Dry and brittle from the noontime sun

Who thought I was best

Without shadows of regret or bliss

Stretching from my head or heart



Surely winter comes

Again like foe

To the summer sun

Yet, it is not



Time passes quicker now

It’s hard accepting

The echoes of the sound

Yet, it is inevitable