Days and nights become the same,
I dream of long days
and short nights.
I dream of belonging-
in that lonely place
not even the walls believe to belong.

with those images of damaged innocence,
what have we done,
what have we forgotten to remember.

We have kept the wrong words,
we have hurt the wrong people,
we don’t see what is left from us.

Things have changed.
What I used to know in my soul
had become a drifter in a distant land.

Your voice always arrives at the right time,
reminds me I am someone else.
I try to go back without going back.

Beyond there is what lies beyond.
I look for you,
one of us is a drifter.
I don’t belong to you.

2 thoughts on “Drifters

  1. Poetry is the dialect of absence, loss…and with each, further becomes a reminder that it happened before so it’s going to happen again. Nice work – but I expect nothing less from you! Rock on!

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