The End

When you can’t tell
what remains of me,
from the earth
or the ocean floor;
When my voice is scrubbed
from the itinerant air,
that light can paint
my image no more;

When the mist
that brushed my weary face,
has washed its hands
in the bowl of the sky;
the rain that cooled
the feel of your skin,
has patted its
pearly droplets dry;

When you can’t tell
what once was me,
when it seems
I was just a dream;
I won’t live, trapped
in your memory,
you see, love too
could have never been.

01/5/15 Linked to dVerse Poets